Do you remember what it was like when you were young? Like teenager young? Like when you had all those abstract ‘rules’ that your future boyfriend had to meet? Silly things like how he can’t be younger than you or shorter than you, or how he can’t have braces or crappy grades. Stuff that, if you think about it now, doesn’t even really matter to you anymore.
Now you have grown up rules for the guys that you’d like to date, ok let’s call them guidelines. Guidelines because they’re much more flexible then rules. Things like how he has to be taller then you change to, as long as he’s not shorter then you. Or things like how he has to have a good job change to, as long as he’s working towards something productive in the future. Well one of my ‘grown up’ rules is to never date a ‘Kits’ guy. My reason used to be really cliche and wasn’t really backed by anything more then the many stereotypes I saw walking up and down 4th ave. Buuuut lucky for me, I now have some real world experience to back up that rule.
A couple summers ago I went to a friends opening party for one of his art shows just to say hello and take a look at the work before heading over to Fortune. I was looking at a piece on the wall when this guy came up and stood right beside me, totally invading my bubble. He leaned over and asked me, “what do you think?” I glanced in his direction, gave him a once over, looked back at the art and said, “It’s good. What do you think?” He said, “It’s good.” After a short conversation he asked for my number, I gave it to him, we went our separate ways.
A few days of text message conversations went by getting to know each other. I soon came to find out that he was a Kits boy, the horror. Contemplating my rule I decided to go against my gut feeling and give it a try. I should be open to different types of people right? Maybe he’s different? Incorrect. For our first date, although whether or not that was a date is still questionable in my mind, we went to Kits beach to play vollyball with his friends. How typical right? Here I am dressed head to toe in black with a face full of makeup and boots on because I just came from work and there he was in a graphic tee, board shorts and flip flops. FML. I reluctantly played a little vollyball, got my clothes terribly dirty and went to go get something to eat with this boy. We ate burritos. *eye roll*
Date number 2 was, you guessed it, at the beach playing fucking vollyball. At least this time I wore shorts and a tank top so I could at least play the damn game properly. As the sun began to set, I started to the hang of this Kits thing as we sat on the beach and talked, beers in hand. Everything was going well until he literally cut off what I was saying mid sentence and told me to, “Be quiet so I can watch the sunset and be grateful for the day,” or some crap. I, with not one spiritual bone in my damn body, must have given him the most bewildered stare the entire time. Did that just really happen? Where am I? Oh yeah i’m in fuckin Kits. Also, he had a sandy bed. Gross.