Smelling the roses

Life is pretty good recently. It's summer vacation. My new little lovebird, who I've tentatively taken to referring to as Persil (silent L), will be coming home with me in 10 days or so. I've got money in the bank. I have an interview tomorrow for a job whose description is awfully close to the dream job I was offered last summer, then un-offered a couple of days before school began. And they've already told me I'm their top candidate -- touch wood. Even if I don't get that, I'm pretty sure I can finagle my way into a maternity leave position in the same French immersion program in a local school. I'm having a summer fling with a handsome, funny Canadian, and I'm dating other guys too.

However, I've realized lately that I have a tendency to be my own worst enemy. My ex-boyfriend, La Moustache, screwed me over royally last summer. Ever since then, I feel like every time I meet someone I like, I clench my stomach and steel myself for disappointment. I'm like a mollusk, ready to close up tight at the first sign of trouble. But no one else has the power to hurt me the way La Moustache did; these are just guys I'm dating. I'm not in love with any of them, and they are most certainly NOT irreplaceable, as Beyonce would say.

I had a mollusk moment when Le Canadien cut our date short yesterday. It made me worry that he's using me for the physical aspects of our relationship. In hindsight, though, there was really no reason for me to freak out as I did. He needs to find an apartment pronto; he is stressed about work, and he told me as soon as he arrived at my house yesterday that he'd need to take care of these things later on. Nonetheless, we spent a lovely day together. He gives me every indication that he likes me. He always responds quickly to my emails. He gives me lots of compliments. In his car yesterday on the way to the lake he told me he'd pick out music for us to listen to that he thought I'd like, and he was right -- I did like it. He listens to me talk about how cute Persil is, and asks to see photos of him. And, if he does disappoint, it will not break my heart. He is not my boyfriend, and he is never going to be my husband.

It doesn't come naturally to me, especially after my horrible experience with Moustache last year, but I'm determined to lighten up. Please remind me the next time I forget.