I was out recently with my friend, her boyfriend, and his adorable but hard-to-read buddy who has asked to be referred to as “Shark.”  Shark and I have exchanged some playful banter.  We’ve checked each other out (I think).  Neither of us is a fan of the set up.  I can’t speak for Shark – I may be a)not his type, b)intimidating due to my ridiculous good looks and wit, or c)he doesn’t date girls who write about dating.  Fair enough.  I’m not making a move because he seems too tough to crack.

At dinner I laugh at a dumb joke to which everyone else rolls their eyes.  “What?” I say, “I like easy jokes.”  Shark catches my eye and says, “I like easy women.”  It’s a light comment.  Though it did come mere moments after I mumbled, eyes cast down, that I wasn’t looking for a relationship and that love wasn’t something I prioritize.  To be clear, I am an effing liar.  I mean, I’m not looking (actively), and right now with the whole mess of  my life to attend to, I’m not prioritizing love.  I mean I date… just not anyone I like.  But still, I think I said it because it seemed like a good deflective device to the come-back-with-a-warrant vibe I was getting from Shark.  Anyway, back to easy women.  I couldn’t help but read a little further into that comment.  It was a joke about sexually easy women, but maybe it actually meant easier like, less neurotic, less prone to verbal diarrhea, less challenging — than me.

Then I started thinking about the kinds of guys I’ve dated lately.  They all had one thing in common.  The younger guy, the religious guy, the doesn’t-really-read guy –  were all easy in the sense that I didn’t feel challenged.  I knew it wasn’t going to last so there was no chance of surprise heartbreak.  I knew I could manipulate them without much of a fight on their end.  I’m not proud.  Clearly I wasn’t looking for a match, rather a temporary fix.  Which made them easy.  Furthermore, it made ME easy.  I wasn’t being my most true, flawed self.  Who wants to be that?  It sucks showing someone the ugly, the weird, the yikes.  Instead I’d been choosing to be my easy self.  Not easily accessible.  Just easy.

Shark struck me as difficult.  There was something guarded there, and whether it was due to past hurt or I was just imagining it, I’m not a fan of trying to break down someone’s wall only to find the sleeping form of an ex still very much alive in their mind.  But he also struck me as smart.  And funny.  And hot.  Which are things of which I’m a fan.  Conundrum.

I’ve never been described as easy.  I’m more the type to play just-the-tip for seven months and then break up with you.  Right, I know, but TRY not to fall in love with me, please.  And now I’m starting to think I might be the worst kind of easy.  What’s wrong with the original definition, after all?  Someone who is open to love and sex and human connection?  I was dismissing an entire half of my complicated, neurotic little self in order to boast a “Do Not Disturb” sign on my heart.  At first it seemed to equal ‘fun girl.’  Now it seemed to be getting old.

I’m reminded of ninth grade.  I was outside the fall dance, the Violent Femmes “Add It Up” blasting from inside the disco ball-lit cafeteria.  My crush, a guitar-playing, poetry-writing, ponytail-wearing senior sidled up and asked why I was outside.  I looked down my dirty converse, summoned the courage, looked up into his blue eyes, and said, “I love you.”  Now, I may have been doing the hard thing in exposing my desperate little golden retriever of a heart to him, but when he responded with, “Thank you,” all I felt was easy – willing to offer something up even if it went unwanted.  In retrospect, though, that moment stands out as hilarious, yes, but also brave.  So maybe it’s time to redefine the term ‘easy.’