How do you justify to yourself that you're doing the right thing when you know you have to tell someone you're not interested in them. I'm sure that's happened to us at least once or twice: that first date when you think everything is going swell but in reality, your date is grimacing underneath that false smile Plaster of Paris-ed on his/her face and is secretly plotting on the easiest way out of the restaurant. I'm more used to being the one rejected than the one doing the rejecting (or whatever it is you want to call such things; after all, "rejecting" seems like such a strong word) and generally, I manage to remain friends with these boys who have decided that I belong more to the "Friends" category than the "Girlfriend" category - or even tread that morally ambiguous line where there's physical intimacy without anything official coming to mind.
But there is that occasional moment when the universe calls upon its sense of humor and sends my way a really bad date - the kind where I couldn't stand seeing him afterwards, even in a friendly capacity. It just bothers me, seriously. It's not even so much the physical qualities because goodness knows I'm not in any position to judge anyone's physical characteristics; I'm no Angelina Jolie, obviously. What troubles me is that we have nothing to talk about. Bad dates are firmly categorized in the Long Silences of Doom where you spend thirty minutes fiddling with your cutlery, smoothing out the invisible creases in your clothes, and stare at a spot just above your date's left ear. These things trouble me. I don't like them. Long Silences of Doom should be drawn and quartered, tied up and shot in the head.
So there. But then, when the moment arrives - and you know when the moment arrives, trust me - and you have to deliver the blow, there's that part of me that wonders if there wasn't anything more I could have done: been more charming, more personable, should I have pushed the conversation off the cliff? What gives me the right to tell this person that he isn't right for me, that I have no interest in seeing him further? Somehow, telling one's self, "There's nothing to be done, and what you're doing is for his benefit in the end" doesn't quite ring true for me. But then again, what do you do? String him along? Personally, I find it easier to be told that I'm not someone's type right off the bat rather than be strung along like some child's toy, only to be dropped off the pavement and squished under the tires of a ten-wheeler. The wound is swift and sharp and painful, but it heals quicker, and is easier forgotten.
But then again, does this contribute to bad karma? Does every blow you deliver make you a Bad Person because you can't find it in your system to like him? Or is this just the way the world works - this strange secret ways of attraction that moves without logic or rhythm? I'm not quite sure how this all works, and sometimes I find it strangely amusing and funny, but other times, it's awfully painful to even start thinking about these things.