Wingman
By Bob Gielow
The other night, Isabel and I were both at Gilley's for their monthly line-dancing event, called “Getting In-Line.” I like going there because everyone forgets about their jobs and complicated lives and simply enjoys themselves through the music and the movement. As she has before, during breaks for the band, Isabel pointed out several women I should “go on over and talk to.” I refused each time, offering one lame excuse or another … “she’s too short,” “she’s not a very good dancer,” or “I’m not sure about those bangs.”
Isabel gets so frustrated when I refuse her recommendations. Since back in the summer, when I started bumping into her at Gilley’s, she’s been acting like my wingman, encouraging me and even introducing me to one or more women each night. I know that I’ve been a lousy … wait, if she is my wingman, then what does that make me? Her pilot? I guess I’ve been a lousy pilot.
There are many reasons why I’ve been a lousy pilot. I am overly critical about the women I meet and have no reason to be. At five foot nine and 176 pounds, with a big nose and thinning hair, I am not the kind of guy most women find attractive. I’ve been told that my slight accent, from growing up in Russia, is unnerving to some. On top of that, I get all tongue-tied speaking with women outside of a work environment. So, even if I encounter a woman who is willing to chat for a while, I don’t have much to say to them before getting flustered and excusing myself to go to the bathroom.
There are very few women who work with me at the nuclear power plant, so, unfortunately, I have almost no chance to become more comfortable speaking with those of the fairer sex.
My therapist says I am solely responsible for not yet having had a romantic relationship. On multiple occasions, she’s told me I am too picky about the women I will date and too guarded about sharing my emotions. She might be right. I mean, if she’s wrong in her assessments about me, then why have I been paying her $120 per session, every two weeks, over this past year and a half?
Yesterday morning, I was at Deb’s Diner and ordered my usual “Healthy Start Breakfast,” with the eggs poached and the coffee black. Brenda, who is always working the counter there, was asking me questions about when and why my family immigrated to the United States, and what my job is at the power plant. She kept offering to refill my coffee and it occurred to me that maybe she was flirting with me. I can never tell if a woman like Brenda is simply being nice to me, so she’ll get a good tip, or if she might be flirting. Is there a difference in how women smile in these two situations? I need to ask my therapist how to identify one kind of smile from another.
"I’ve been thinking about Brenda and trying to imagine dating her and even having sex with her. The idea is not an awful one, but I keep coming up with reasons to not ask her out. Her voice is kind of high pitched. She doesn’t seem very athletic. And she probably doesn’t make much money working for tips at the diner. Even to me, these excuses seem pathetic.
Just now, my phone chimed, reminding me I have an appointment with my therapist in 30 minutes. I am noticing how awake I am feeling now, after a long day on the job. I am being very careful about the change of clothes I am selecting because I want to look good for her. I’m even humming some pop tune I heard on the radio this morning, which is so unlike me. Look at how happy I am that I have an appointment this evening!
My giddiness is now turning to dread thinking about how I am supposed to tell my therapist that she’s the woman I like, she’s the woman I’d like to date. I feel way more comfortable sharing my thoughts with her than anyone else. I realize I’ve not been pursuing those other women because they pale in comparison to her. Is she allowed to date her clients? Probably not.
Only then do I register that the joy I’ve been experiencing at the line-dancing events might be ruined. Isabel is also my wingman, my therapist-wingman.
Is it wrong of me to wish she was my therapist-lover? I’ve got to let her know!"
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A college administrator by day, Bob Gielow (he/him) spins tales in formats we all use when communicating with each other: text messages, diary entries, and fictional Wikipedia posts all allow him to be clinical and thorough in describing his characters, their thinking and actions … without diminishing his ability to explore the resulting human emotions.