Stories of...Notting Hill

A lovely friend gifted me a perfume. It’s woodsy, smells like man, and I like wearing it. I spritzed two too many and now I smell like a boy’s gym and I want to throw up. 

My friend Tomasso, the barista you all know and love, has tried to make loose plans to hang out outside the cafe. Emphasis on loose. He was eager at first but slowly it’s dwindled. He’s made them and cancelled them for the third time. Tonight being one of them. A man with empty promises is like a glass without water.

Another pursuit, Samuel, texted me everyday long enough to make plans. In which on Sunday I responded Tuesday afternoon sounds great :) Well Tuesday came and left and he only now responded with “I flopped. When are you free next?” For you, dear Samuel, not again. 

Maybe it’s a coincidence. Maybe it’s the energy I’m putting out. My friend Sinéa read my tarot cards and said that I’m attracting men into my life who are not for me. I know that. I’d never date these guys. I thought I wanted to be single and to enjoy in light-hearted fun. I just didn’t anticipate how frivolous men could be. I thought when they were in pursuit of you, it’d be different. I ended a relationship partially because a man was frivolous with me. I went through 10 months of dating a man who didn’t care for Friday night dates. 

Now I’ve entered the world of dating where the only thing a man can commit to is however far his words will reach. But not nearly far enough for his legs to walk. Except if prospects of his penis is involved.  He’ll marathon sprint, with his penis as a third foot leading the way. (Sorry Mama if you’re reading this.)

Disclaimer: I don’t think all men are trash. I get this burning feeling when we, women, talk about men like they’re animals (I know I know I’m a hypocrite). It’s reductive. It means we’ve already assumed the worst in them. I like to advocate for the best in them. Innocent until proven otherwise. My father treats my mother well. My brother treats his girlfriend well. The men in my life have been good to me and show me that there are men out there who are not only willing but wanting to put in the time. I know this. And I believe it to be true. 

I think I’m craving someone whose words reach far enough to move their legs.

I think that’s why I like the masculine perfume. I think that’s why I spritzed it on myself two too many. I think I’m craving. Starving maybe (if we’re being melodramatic). 

Maybe Sinéa’s right. It’s empty at the end of this road. I think it’s time for a different approach. 


                                                                                                                                           Stories of Notting Hill 
                                                                                                                          Tuesday, November 23rd, 2021