On Scumbags and Being the Other Woman

Am resurfacing now, recovering from last night’s party chez my friend J in Kensington. One of those really fun, debauched evenings, involving record amounts of champagne and 5am collapse.

J recently split with P, the love of her life, for various soul-searching, heart-rendering reasons (which I hope can be rectified). They are still the best of friends, and still live together, although in separate bedrooms, and with another 2 flatmates.

I really like P. He has always treated J well, and makes her happy. He is highly intelligent, and one of the very few people who understands the confusing internal struggles I grapple with on being a corporate sell-out who does not want to give up her career. He has integrity, is not motivated by money and, on a salary in excess of what I have earned in the last 3 years, refuses to buy a property, as he does “not believe in it”. I am very endeared by this.

However, last night, P made a pass at me. Obviously, I can’t go there; it would be unsisterly towards J, and just wrong. It’s not as though by turning him down I feel as though I’m missing out on the love of my life (in which case, I would have to discuss it with J before acting on it anyway). But: WHY – out of ALL the men who EVER show an interest in me, am I ALWAYS the other woman?

I’m not talking about the random chancers who don’t know me, such as the bloke who lives next to my local tube station who keeps running out to give me his number (again) every time I pass, or one of the guys at the gym, or men who try to pick me up in bars or even local cafes. I am referring to men who already know me in some capacity, which whom I could conceivably share a functional relationship. They never want ME. They are always off-limits in some way, and at most want me as their bit on the side.

What happened last night was typical of the situations I keep finding myself in with men who are off-limits, or who are with someone else but still think they can try their luck with me. It started off with a meaningful conversation about careers and identity crises, progressing to flirtatious groping (slapping my arse, grabbing my waist, trying to drunkenly cuddle me, etc), and then, when we found ourselves alone in a room for a few minutes:

P (stroking my thigh): Sweetie, you have lost SO much weight… you look fantastic

Me (starting to feel slightly uncomfortable; believe it or not, I find it hard to tell when someone I respect is attracted to me, and I have an even harder time believing that anyone finds me attractive!): Erm, thanks…

P: I like your shoes… your feet are tiny… like the rest of you… just don’t get too skinny; Jewish girls are meant to be voluptuous! So… are you seeing anyone?

Me (alarm bells beginning to ring, but too drunk to move, and physically incapacitated by wooden wedge platforms): Oh no, busy with job-hunting and studying at the moment, and I’m not really in the right place for dating. I’ve had some bad dating experiences in the last few months, and my heart is still feeling a little bruised from the last guy I met

P: Why, what was the problem?

Me: Just someone I have seriously fallen for, but he is already in a relationship, and clearly not interested

P: The guy’s an idiot! You’re beautiful, intelligent (etc etc). He’s a fool to pass up on such a great opportunity. He should want you enough to fight for you

Me (feeling desperately sad, as in total agreement): hmmm… ok, let’s go and find J

P (ignoring my attempt to stumble to my feet, and instead trying to plump up the cushions around me): So, is it important to you to meet a Jewish guy?

And thus ensued a whole conversation about what I am looking for (theoretically, of course, as I have just sworn off dating for the moment), and why he is off limits, before I finally managed to rise to my feet and went off in search of more champagne and dancing. He did drop a few more lines on me throughout the evening (eg when he caught me inspecting myself in the mirror: “admiring yourself? There’s a lot to admire!”) and when I passed out for a few minutes around 4.30am, I awoke to find him trying to kiss me. Look: he is still essentially a decent guy – most of these men are – and at least he had the grace to look sheepish and embarrassed and not meet my eye when he, J and I went out for coffee this afternoon when we awoke. But somehow, I always manage to tap into the bad side of men; the side that is not content; the side that is confused, that does not know what he is looking for, the side that wants to switch off from reality and have no-strings-attached, commitment-free sex. And this is ALL they want from me.

And that’s ok… sometimes. But not when he has a history with one of my girlfriends, or when he is still in a relationship. And certainly not when I really really really like the guy.

WHY - when I am so good at forming relationships in general – does no amazing man want to have an actual functional relationship with me? Why do I seem to bring out the worst side of all remotely decent men? Why do I always end up doing all the chasing, and why does no man think I am worth fighting for? City Boy thinks I intimidate men because I am direct, confident and independent. Well yes, but at the same time, I am just as insecure, confused and messed up as the next person.

And I have learned 2 things:

1. When it comes to men, I don’t want what I can’t have. I know what (who!) I want, and if I can’t have him, I’m not going to push it, but I’m not going to settle for second best either
   
2. I am definitely getting to old to party like this any more…