Honestly, Though

Picture it: I move into a nice new place with one of my BFFs, Ty (same building, across the hall). Within six hours of living here, Ty and I get our first noise complaint. Our next-door neighbor, Tammy, tells us our bass woke her up—at 9 PM. Seriously, Tams? 9 PM?

Buckle up, sister. We signed 12-month leases. For real, though: We’ll be quiet for ya. If it does get loud, bet your bottom dollar that it’s all Ty’s fault—even though he doesn’t know how to use the speakers.

Anyway, with that out of the way, the same night we moved in, I had a lovely man, who sent me flowers just the week before, over to see the new place, and help set up all the cords behind my television (I’m a technophobe).

The night goes splendidly. Ty, Flowers Guy, and I go to Lyndale Tap House for a late-night dinner (me: turkey club, fries, Diet Coke—delish). We chat about regular stuff, like what we’re going to do over the weekend, and how fat we are for eating fries—as we shovel them into our mouths. I buy Flowers Guy a $3 beer. Ty likes Flowers Guy (thinks I should date him), and drops hints that I really like Flowers Guy (not untrue, but I don’t know him well enough to judge at this point).

I’m the guy who can’t find anyone, by the way, and I know exactly why: I’m too picky.

Or is it that I like being single too much?

Or maybe it’s the other way around, and no one likes me.

Crap. I guess I don’t know why I’m still single.

I invite Flowers Guy to stay the night, and cuddle (I don’t hook up—I cuddle up). He asks me while we wait to fall asleep if I just want to be friends or what.

Just cuddle buddies, I say. I like cuddle buddies.

He asks if there are other cuddle buddies. Oh, geez. Yes, there are.

Flowers Guy: “I can’t do that. I can’t just separate this from my emotions.”

He jumps out of bed, puts on his clothes, and storms out of my six-hour-old apartment.

Oh. Maybe that’s why I’m single. But you know what? I’m honest.

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