Whilst I often make sweeping derisive assumptions about menfolk and have been known to post horrifically misandrous Facebook statuses, generally I like to be courteous and respectful even if you do have a penis.
So I found myself in an awkward position today when one of my work colleagues handed in his month’s notice and thereby decided now was the time to tell me he’s secretly in love with me. Or more accurately, told the receptionist that he was going to tell me, at which point she hurriedly passed the information on to me so I could lock myself in the ladies bathroom for the rest of the day. You can’t just spring that on someone with no preparation – this isn’t a goddamn Pixar film. If he was a weirdo or an arsebucket I’d probably have an easier time dealing with it, but he’s a decent, genuine bloke that I usually work well with. And am not attracted to in the slightest. Not even on a pity-f**k level.
He’s tried to call a couple of times this evening, and I’ve ignored it…yes it’s a very gutsy thing for him to do, and yes he deserves a more mature response, and yes I feel absolutely bloody awful and I’m probably going to hell. But seriously, isn’t this the kind of thing you should do on your last day of work? We still have a whole month to work together. I know I’m going to have to pull myself together and have an adult conversation with him sooner or later, I just need time to figure out how to stroke his ego and make sure he doesn’t walk away hating women. I don’t mind if he hates me, I just don’t want to rob the world of a bloke who’s willing to put his heart on the line.
If I’m not a lesbian by this time next year, I owe you all a drink.