I have always really loved Sally Brown.
The girl’s got sass, she wears her heart on her sleeve, the great Kristen Chenoweth played her in a musical and she can rock some tennis shoes with a dress. HELLO! Sign me up, please!
In all realities, I am entirely Sally Brown. I am a big ball of gooey, feely live nerve emotions. I feel with all that I have all of the time. I want to be the dearest of friends with every person that I meet. Particularly when I feel like they need it.
My sweet friend Sally did the exact same thing. Enter Linus.
The more Sally tried to care for Linus in a genuine way, the more Linus runs. At least, that’s what I’ve decoded from my years of birthday gifts lovingly wrapped in Peanuts cartoons.
I’ve been there a million times.
I finally heal from a break up and a few months into Boss Babe, Who Runs The World, full Beyonce mode I meet him. Usually tall, heavy on the eye candy, sometimes clever and provides me moments of witty banter…always recently single. I decide to befriend him. Just friends. I am Mayor, First Lady and Fair Queen of the Friend Zone so platonic situations ain’t got nothin’ on my skills, if you know what I’m saying.
Then, it happens. A few months into getting to know you chats that turn into semi-flirtatious musings while I sit at home with a class of wine in my hand. Both sides fluttering around the want to spend time with one another….for God’s sake it’s only dinner and POW! Like, a Batman cartoon bubble, lights out.
Nothing. Not a peep. Casper the not-so-friendly ghost. I let it settle a few days. He’s busy, I’m busy. Space. The moment I get my wits about me, I send the paragraph.
“So, here’s the deal. I think you’re great and I’ve decide that your silence means one of two things; either I did something awful or you found yourself a ladyfriend.”
The soliloquy in response always includes how warm, sweet, supportive, clever, lovely and wise I am. They say they still want to be friends, that their new romantic interest is still new and they don’t want to ruin it. Then, as if by magic the warmth they felt for me goes cold. Ice cold. I’ve met my fair share of Linuses and rather than Sally, I’ve realized I’m the blanket.
You never see Linus sans blanket, do you? He holds onto it so tightly that it may be fused to a finger or ten. So there I sit, trusty, cozy, blue and warm while he cuddles up to an electric blanket next to fire while it blizzards about. Contentment like that is only made the better by new romance highs.
Being warm and cozy is who I am as a person. I will not be ashamed of the genuine way I am created to love people. This becomes the thing that both attracts people to me and makes me an easy target for Linus on laundry day, clutching the nearest warm and fuzzy while the one that he wants and isn’t ashamed to drag around town is indisposed.
Every time it happens, I hurt for awhile. I listen to break up songs. Sometimes, I cry. Then, I try to stay positive. I try to remember that I have my stuff together. I have great jobs, I have shrinking student loan debt, I am a rocking hottie with a great parking space and not to mention, I’m fun. I deserve usually tall, heavy on the eye candy, more than sometimes clever and eyes all for me.
I am not a blanket. I’m a down comforter. Quilted, expensive, cozy and I deserve to be held onto.