The day you get a drawer is a monumental day in a relationship.
If you’re lucky enough to have a drawer at his place, then congratulations! For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about, it’s likely because you’ve never gotten one (sorry girl). Getting a drawer is when the guy you’re dating clears out all his crap from one (or more) of his drawers, to make way for your lovely stuff. It’s likely come to the point in the relationship where you’re spending nights at his place and staying over all the time, that a ‘travel bag’ and trips back and forth between his place and yours just doesn’t cut it anymore.
Most girls who get a drawer see it as a stepping stone. ‘To the next step,’ we think as we blush at the idea of marking our territory in his place. As we should. Getting a drawer symbolizes his comfort with you around. It shows you that he’s happy to have you around so much so that he’s willing to give up some of his personal space for you. He wants you to feel more at home in a ‘mi casa, su casa’ kind of way. So you guys have The Talk and before you know it, an empty drawer (or two) awaits.
The typical drawer space to get is about two drawers, which I’ve learned in past relationships. The first is the ‘thought that counts’ kind of drawer and the second is the ‘I get that you have a lot of stuff and I’m willing to accommodate said stuff’ kind of drawer.
So what do you put in the drawer you’ve just won in the lottery of love? Well pretty lady, that depends on what your go-to items are during the week. Here are my tips to have a good variety of stuff on call in case something comes up while you’re chilling at the apple-of-your-eye’s place and don’t have a chance to run home:
Comfy clothes: Because we can’t be in a matching lace bra and thong set all the time…OK, well we can, but it’s great to have a pair of sweats and a hoody around just in-case you want to bundle up (in something other than his arms), or in case it’s your turn on call for a Starbucks run.
A LBD and classic pumps: You get over to your guys place and he decides it’s time for a date night? Perfect. No worrying about being under dressed, the little black dress and a pair of classic pumps gives you lots of moving space for various last minute happenings that may emerge.
Skinny jeans, a blouse and a cardigan: Think about packing for a weekend-getaway, blondettes. You never know how the weather is going to be, or what you’re going to do, so you cover the basics and mix and match accordingly. Treat his drawers like your Louis Vuitton travel bag and you’ll be all set.
Lingerie/hot little numbers: It’s always good to have a few ‘pick me up’s’ on hand. It keeps the boy on his toes and if you’re feeling extra flirty (amongst other things) you’ll have these hot little numbers ready for their close up.
The other guys: Perfume, deodorant, a few tampons. Not as glamorous, but still essentials to have on call for all the obvious of reasons.
The drawer allows you to say goodbye to walk of shames (I swear they aren’t shameful, we’ve been together for 13 months!) to wearing the same pair of underwear two days in a row (really?) to being under dressed when a last minute invite comes your way and most importantly, to the uncertainty you had regarding the man in your life’s feelings towards you.
You may not have a ring, and you may not be living under the same roof (officially) just yet, but getting a drawer of your very own is a huge step. So pat yourself on your back, get packing and on behalf of college girls everywhere, congratulations you little minx you!
I am not expecting text messages as inspired as Charles Dickens novels, but I do have certain textpectations–some of them greater than others. By the time those Thursday text messages float into your inbox – “you around this weekend” and you respond with something like “I am sir.” And hear those three little words: let’s meet up - you (and they) know its on…
Or is it?
Much to my chagrin these premeditated meet ups often turn into more of a cat and mouse game of texting that turns a night out with pals into a one of two distractions
1) Trying to lure your love interest to the bar you are at with your friends…”hey guys, how long we going to be here?”
2) Debating whether you should troll out of your comfort zone to locations uncharted since your freshman year.
A little while back, I was out with a group of friends and after a series of witty and flirtatious ping-pong texts with a romanTECH interest–who I swear has the opposite summer schedule as me–sent me his sans humor, bottom line at approximately 12:40: “really wanna c u. come here.”
Me, flattered by his bold choice ditched my crowd to meet the potential boo. When I got there however, potential boo he was not. Instead he was hypnotized by some pay-per-view fight and gave me a hey along with a high five. No joke: I almost blacked out. Believe me, I wasn’t expecting rose petals a la Coming to America, but a drink on his tab and glad to see you would have gotten him farther then he probably realized. Feeling weird, I did the natural thing, grabbed myself a drink, slugged it and said my good-byes. He, acting unaffected by my “ciao for now,” quickly shot me a series of text messsages ranging in degrees of desperation from “why did you leave” to “where are you” to the simply stated “?”
Maybe it was harsh, but I was let down by the built-up meet-up and even more deflated by the fact that his actions and texts were sending different messages. In some ways I remain traditional in my thinking: actions speak louder than words (even when they are typed).
It’s the perfect Saturday afternoon. I’m lying in my all-white bed, watching Marilyn Monroe in Gentleman Prefer Blondes, in a pair of over-sized, comfy sweat pants. The funny thing is, I don’t know where they came from. All I know is that they are gray, Nike, and they are a men’s large. I look at the tag for clues, hoping to find someones last name written on them so I can Sherlock Holmes my way out of this mystery, but no such luck. One thing’s for sure and that’s that they came from a guys place, likely given to me in the early a.m. hours to avoid the obviously evident walk of shame.
Whose sweatpants are you currently wearing? What is the history behind the pairs of sweats in your closet? Every pair has got a story and I got to tell you, I’m starting to think we are all a part of the Six Degrees of Separation, the sweatpants edition. Please note: The word ‘sweatpants’ can be interchanged with the word ‘hoody’ at any time.
When I realized that I couldn’t solve my mystery, I got out of bed, walked towards my overly full walk-in closet, and went to grab my favorite pair of thin gray sweats – a pair that I can proudly say are my own. To my surprise, they weren’t there. Knowing I couldn’t blame the cleaning lady for stealing them, I started to wonder where they were last seen. Then it hit me. I’d given them to a boy to avoid his walk of shame (also to make his time here a little more cozy then the fitted, how-did-you-button-those-up-in-the-first-place kind of jeans). When I went to grab another pair, I realized the same boy had those too. I sent him a Blackberry message that read as follows: “The sweatpant police called to inquire about a couple pairs of missing sweatpants.” He laughed in typical LOL fashion, and I continued, “There’s a reward if you find them and return them to the rightful owner.” You can imagine the rest of the conversation, but needless to say, rest assured, the sweats will be returned. I had however been alerted by him that he’s been wearing ‘em around for a number of weeks. I’m not surprised. Who could blame him? That is the thing with over-sized gray sweats, anything goes.
I always wore this one pair of sweats of my exes. They were gray, Roots and over-sized perfection. He admitted to me that he got them from a one night stand, and that the girl took them from her brother to give to my ex. I once wore them out to breakfast with him and we ran into the girl. I’m sure she took note. I know I did, and I laugh because I know a guy who is walking around town in one of my former flames sweatpants, and he has no idea.
Now lets discuss choices: I’ve chatted with some girlfriends and we realized that between all of us, we have never been given a pair of NICE pants to wear home. They are always old school not so trendy sweats, something like Champion, Reebok, Nike, Roots or no-name. Do men keep their old ratty sweats around so they can pass them off to a girl without looking like a dick, but without having to see her again to get them back? I’m onto you boys. I don’t want your class of ’99 sweats, I want the goods.
A Saturday activity for the ladies:
- Look through your closet and scope out the blasts from the pasts of clothing. Do you have a pair of men’s boxers, over-sized American Apparel sweat shirts, etc? Why are you keeping them? Do you still walk around the house in his sweatpants, shamelessly? Wear his sweatshirt because you’re just certain it smells like him still (even though its been three months and you’ve worn it almost nightly as if it’s a nighttime uniform?
- Make a list of people who have your clothing, and then from there make a family tree style page of the history of where they originated.
- Spring cleaning anyone? Out with the old and in with the new, bitches. Move forward and rid yourself of the band t-shirt from the guy you hooked up with two years ago. I’m sure there’s a donation drop off close by. Make someone else’s day as you move forward with yours.
I need to finish this off by saying the guy who currently has a couple pairs of my sweats (as discussed above) once had a great idea. He was noticing a pattern of taxing my sweats and offered me money so I can pick up a bunch of sweats for him to have in stock. We thought a Costco five pack. Not such a bad idea when I come to think of it. You can never have too many pairs of the gray sweatpant.
The other day, my friend and I were driving to Hudson (Wisco) on a Sunday afternoon to buy some wine. Yes, that calculation all together means we physically left the state we were in (Minnesota) and cruised controlled our way to Wisconsin so we could legally buy booze. On a Sunday. In January.
Girls gotta do what a girls’ gotta do ok? Even if that means taking a flashback ride to the high school days – when you would beg someone older to drive the healthy hour into a state where no one else had anything better to do than drink on God’s day o’ rest. Cheers.
Basically, while she sped east and I sat and ate my Uncrustable for breakfast in the passenger seat, we had a chance to get down to talking. And of course, that conversation was about boyz. I immediately assumed it was kosher we were being desperate about booze and discussing the one thing we couldn’t ever seem to figure out. My roommate and I can relate, we’ve both been single for a while, we both like to go out and have fun. We both have ungodly crushes on very manly men in sports, and we both like to dish about it. Naturally, our conversation led to something a little sacred in the dating world (ESPECIALLY during college). Sexay time.
It has been (let’s just say a while) since we’d been “intimate” (for lack of floozy words) with anyone. So we began comparing time frames.
“It’s been a year.”
“It’s been nearly two years.”
And then we looked at each other with the type of fear people save in the back files of their emotions and feelings for jail, court, car crashes, in-laws, and moldy bread combined. It made a little sense; I had graduated from college a year ago and she, two years. The time frame of our intimate encounters with men coincided brilliantly with our behavioral habits in school. Is this coincidence? Or does this mean something more? While I was thinking this, my roommate laid it out into the thin, winter car air,
“Do we stop being so promiscuous in a small portion of our twenties?”
At first, this threw me for a total loopty loop (because hell, that seems a little deep for a Sunday). But then my mind skipped a beat. WHAT? We stop getting busy during the peak of our beautiful lives? We look great, our boobs are purky-purkerton, our skin is taught and soft, we have a thriving drive to reenact scenes in Ashton Kutcher romantic comedies. Sexually…twenty somethings are there. College kids are there. They are well aware of what they want and they will go out and get it. Look at the McDonald’s drive thru on a Saturday night. But…are they really…there? Is there a small portion of confidence that isn’t in the stats of a college gal? Is there a blockade that brims through their lives during a certain age that makes them bulk from the possibility of misfortune?
What I’m saying is, I do think there is a small portion of one’s twenties, where sexy time with men isn’t as appealing as it had been in say…college right out of high school. We become more self-aware, we are presented with consequences, we forsee our future, our ‘wants’ blend with our ‘needs’ more efficiently. And sex is not the means we want to take to get there.
This all may seem far-fetched. I know a ripe batch of twenty somethings having a lot of sexy encounters with men (especially the ones in relationships). But certain things constitute the loss of action. Ask any single twenty something besides Chelsea Handler or Tucker Max – “how often are you doing the dirty?” I bet a ton of them will say, “not that often, compared to a time after high school when I wanted to explore the mountains of havoc in bed.” Trust me, I’ve seen this among many.
But why? Why aren’t people doing it at a fresh, young age? I won’t begin to compare twenty somethings to an un-ripe fruit, but I really want to. Twenty somethings are in the process of softening up. Unlike thirty somethings (and all the hot chicks in Sex and the City) twenty somethings have so many consequences and they are not confident enough to sacrifice their undefined selves to make them. Lots of things happen during this time – we switch around jobs, boyfriends, diets…having constant bed favors throws us off. We can’t get pregnant at twenty-three, we need to find a steady job first. We can’t get married at twenty-three, we need to find ourselves first. Twenty somethings don’t withhold the capacity of confidence needed to sleep around – without feeling crushed or used and confused. I’m not saying thirty somethings are sluts and dry hump everything that moves (including trees). But thirty somethings have different consequences. Getting pregnant wouldn’t be a complete doozie, nonetheless getting married. They’ve effectively defined themselves – making confidence and sleeping with people, less of an issue. They are a soft, prepared fruit. [Sorry...]
So…let’s hear what YOU think. Is there a small portion of an individuals in college or twenty somethings where they stop doing the dirty? Now, seriously, I’m ruling out all ya’ll who are in a healthy and stable relationship. So, let’s be honest this lovely Thursday. If you agree with me, what’s the reason for stopping the sexy time? If you think I’m totally off kilter, what’s your reasoning there? As a single girl out of that realm of hope between the sheets, I’m dying to know.
There is no eloquent way to put it: rejection sucks. Not that eloquence has ever been my top priority when there are still cupcakes to be eaten, reality TV to be watched and an empty chair by the pool.
Not making the cheerleading squad or the debate team are one thing; but relationship rejection is a personal blow. It could be as simple as someone standing you up for a drink or as complex as an affair during a twenty year marriage. Rejection comes in all shapes and sizes, but the one constant is that it always messes with your mind, and will most definitely sabotage your future relationships if you allow it.
After fifteen years of dating, I can promise you that I’ve been on both sides of the rejection fence more times than Simon Cowell has worn a too-tight black t-shirt. I’m going to go over some common responses to rejection and how to work through them. Aren’t you just so excited you could run laps around the house? (Except, I bet you just realized that was only fun when you were five years old, and that level of physical exertion would actually be punishment at this point….)
1. You blame them. You get all of your girlies together and discuss every reason why this person is the scum of the earth and you’d never want him anyway. This is always ironic, considering the week before you were probably in the same room, with the same girls, listing all the reasons why you guys were perfect for each other. Now you’re pride has been wounded, so you have no choice but to believe this guy must be mentally unstable or clueless. Why else would he not want to be with you?
Ever stop and think how insanely cocky that is? I mean, really. You’ve rejected lots of guys before, right? Is there something wrong with your mental capabilities? No. You just weren’t feeling it. Or there was no chemistry, whatever. Last week, I had four different friends, who were cheated on and betrayed — and they were all GUYS! So just remember that you are experiencing the very same emotions that you have caused a guy to feel at some point.
2. You want revenge. Your first reaction might be to tell him just what a stupid decision he made by rejecting you. You want to hurt him back. You want to find the hottest guy in the tri-state area and be seen with him around campus.You want this guy to know exactly how much fun you’re having without him. He needs to see what he’s missing, right?
Okay, tuck the crazy away for a moment. The only thing you can do to make this situation worse is by seeking revenge. He didn’t want you for whatever reason, so seeing you with someone else isn’t going to change that. Nor is you informing him how much he’s going to regret this decision in the long run. It’s just going to make you seem desperate. Why are you wasting your time trying to prove a point to a guy who doesn’t want you? Let’s think about this logically.
3. You blame yourself. I hope by now you’ve read enough articles around here to know that the problem does not lie with you. Nor does it lie with the one who rejected you. Here’s a secret: no one has a problem. It’s called dating. We have to do a lot of it in order to find the one who will make us not want to date anymore. Rejection is just part of the sifting process. You’ll do plenty of it. Start blaming yourself and you might as well throw in the towel because that’s essentially quitting.
4. You allow it to dictate future relationships. The saddest part about rejection is that we let it change who we are. You think, “Well, now I can never trust anyone ever again,” and, “I’m so embarrassed. I’m never asking another guy out after this.” Ahhh! Don’t you see what’s happening here? You are giving this person power over the rest of your life. It’s bad enough that they betrayed you or turned you down, but now you’re going to let them hinder you from being happy? Why? Why would you let them do that? Take back the power. Only you can control your feelings and reactions. Only you can let something affect you — both positively or negatively.
How should you react?
First, be grateful they didn’t just string you along to “be nice” and waste a ton of your time. Raise your hand if you’ve done that, am I right?
Secondly, realize that hindsight is, as they say, 20/20. Has there ever been a guy in your past that you were madly in love with but who didn’t return the sentiment? And have you ever caught yourself saying, “Wow, so glad that never worked out ’cause he is a total loser?” Um, yeah. It might take a few years, but I guarantee you that you will see clear cut reasons as to why it is best that you didn’t end up with that person who rejected you.
Thirdly, don’t be crazy. Don’t seek revenge. Don’t blame yourself — and don’t blame them! They didn’t do anything wrong by being honest, and isn’t honesty what we’re always whining about wanting from everyone?
Time to practice,
I think it was the genius singer-songwriter Avril Lavigne who brought up the ever important question…“Why did you have to go and make things so complicated?”
Man, do we complicate things. Sometimes things are so easy, almost simple and we somehow make things harder than they are. We add feelings where they don’t exist, we think we are in love when we don’t know all of their good and not so good stuff, we have sex way too soon in a relationship (yeah…I said it), we put up a wall, get clingy, project our crap….the list goes on and on. At the end of the day we are all just trying to connect. Build. Share. Learn. Love. That’s it. It is a human need, it is us who complicates it.
Let me give you an example.
I have actually had numerous ladies that have told me a story that ends with “well he says he just not interested in dating right now…what do you think that means?”Hmmmm…..What do I think that means?!?
Well, as someone who has started to speak fluent manspeak, I will translate it for you. It means “he isn’t interested in dating right now.” Yup, that’s it. But ladies will sit with their friends for hours and deliberate the whole entire dating relationship to decipher this cryptic message. They turn into the modern day Nancy Drew looking for clues into what happened. Here is some of the answers I have heard.
“He got scared of getting too close.”
“He was intimidated by your (smarts, looks, sense of humor, etc.)
“He must not be over his ex.”
“He likes you TOO much.”
Here is the truth. I wasn’t in those relationships. so I have absolutely NO idea what happened. But here is what I do know. He isn’t interested. That’s it. That is all you need to know. Somehow all of the stuff that brought him and you to that point just isn’t the right match for him. It isn’t personal. Most likely it has nothing to do with you, it just isn’t right. So why take up your time (and most likely everyone else you know) trying to decipher this cryptic code that isn’t really so cryptic. Why let this kick you in the insecurity and have you question your worth? When really you have all the pieces to the puzzle. He isn’t looking for a relationship with you. So what? I bet someone is.
So really, is it that complicated?
This week, work on uncomplicating things. Let go of the feeling that it is all about you, your expectations and just have fun with it. Get to know someone for the pure pleasure of understanding another person and their differences. Collect stories. Build a connection with the intention of sharing, instead of trying to manipulate it and figure what will happen in the future. It probably won’t happen that way anyhow. Give a hug…because you can.
Once you start to uncomplicate, you can just enjoy the journey. Isn’t that the point?
We spend our lives dating; from the time we finish high school, we may have had one, if not several, boyfriends. By college, this number has increased and after graduation, you’ve lost count. But how many of those guys did you really care for? How many guys have you dated long-term that you KNEW within the first month or even by the first date that he wasn’t the one?
I’m interested in this concept not only from my own experiences with dating, but by observing the relationships of my girlfriends for so many years. We date in search for Mr. Right and yet, do we ever give him a chance to find us?
I’m talking to you serial daters: the girls who date guy after guy or those serial monogamists who refuse to find out what single life is really all about. I’m talking to you ladies who are more scared of being lonely than of dating the wrong guy.
So what’s a girl to do? The same thing she does every time: Dates a guy she is unsure of for an extended period of time only to become emotionally attached to an individual she never really liked to begin with. She may “fall in love” eventually, but are her feelings genuine love or emotional security?
The fact of the matter is, when we do this, we are settling. The guy described above is a nice guy, (read: there is nothing wrong with him), so we give him a shot despite our own feelings of insecurity about the relationship actually going somewhere. But do we really want a guy who is “good enough,” or do we want someone who is “great”? Are we so afraid of loneliness that we refuse to dump the guy we know isn’t right for us just to have someone by our side?
In many cases, the answer is yes. We see our friends in happy relationships, couples walking down the street holding hands and we watch sappy romance movies that make us all want what we don’t have. The only problem is, we are never going to get what our friends have, become a happy couple on the street or even find Hollywood Love from Mr. Wrong, even if he isn’t Mr. Horrible. Because in the end, Mr. Wrong can never be Mr. Right, no matter how hard we try to convince ourselves otherwise.
What we need to do is be confident enough in ourselves that we will eventually find Mr. Right, that we will find happiness with the right guy and we will one day have a guy hold a stereo outside our bedroom window (I hope you get the Say Anything reference). The only way it will happen is by being patient and no longer wasting time with guys who we know hold no place in our future.
How can we expect to find Mr. Right when we are always dating Mr. Wrong?
by Annie Maguire
Aside from the guy who has to put his mouth on a breathalyzer in order to start his car, there are several other itty bitty signs that a guy is not dating material. And unfortunately, they’re often signs that you would probably dismiss at first glance.
I’m an anxious person. If I were a stray dog, my temperament would take me so far away from adoption material that the animal shelter employees would probably just pretend I didn’t exist.
When I was in college, my academic adviser and I once bonded a little too strongly over this e-card and the joke that calm people make us even more anxious. Then there was a long silence when we simultaneously realized it wasn’t a joke.
Whereas calm people can date calm people and anxious people can date calm people (they’re kind of like the Type O of monogamy), under no circumstances can anxious people date other anxious people. It takes a calm person to neutralize an anxious person, and it takes a very specific type of person to neutralize me.
I used to pick the most inane fights with my boyfriend. I’m neurotic, high-strung, prone to overreacting, very into hypothetical scenarios, and kind of an undocumented Freudian case study, so this should come as a surprise to absolutely no one. We’ve been together for eight years, and more relevantly, I’m me, so we kind of have our own relationship Rule 34: If it exists, we’ve fought about it. Or rather, I’ve insisted that we fight about it and he’s more or less patiently waited for me to get it together and stop being such a drag.
Whenever we were in the heat of an argument, I would be entirely convinced that everything I spoke was of the utmost truth and wisdom. I was also convinced that he was always wrong, which was logical, as I was obviously right or I wouldn’t have started fighting in the first place. Duh.
After a few years of this (I’m a late bloomer), I took some time to reflect on our relationship. During this time, a flood of fights came back to me, and I struggled to think of a single one that involved any initiation at all on his part. There were none. This isn’t to say he’s never done anything to legitimately upset me or that he sat silently on the couch while I berated him, but he has never started an argument with me, provoked me, or gotten mad at me about something that didn’t warrant some degree of anger. I can’t say the same for myself. Like, not even a little bit.
While these fights were typically meaningless bickering and of no real consequence, they were all so unnecessary because I was being so unnecessary. I wasn’t right. I was the problem.
If any of this sounds embarrassingly familiar, here’s what you need to do before you open your mouth and ruin a perfectly good camping trip or dinner or day or night or week (I’m really sorry about all of those, by the way):
1. First of all, figure out if whatever is on your mind is going to bother you a few days from now. If it’s not, stop. Just stop.
2. Ask yourself what you’re going to get out of this. Peace of mind? An honest answer? A solution? Or are you talk in circles for an hour trying to make an issue out of something that isn’t an issue?
3. If you’re still not sure, get a second opinion. Friends are just therapists who actually like you. They want to be on your side. When they’re not, you’ve probably messed up.
That’s it. These three little things that I imagine the rest of the world is already in on have set me free. And instead of spending my days making him listen to my unwarranted anxiety, we have so much more free time to do the things that really matter. For instance, tonight when he gets home from work, we’re going to watch Keeping Up With the Kardashians.
Photo found on http://yamsixteen.com/post/4511722614
Lying in bed with him ? check. My head is nuzzled up on his chest and overlapping in a good way on his neck? Check. I’m super into him? Check. He’s super into me? Check.
Yes, I do tend to cuddle on occasion. I’m not a hardcore cuddler, and if there was a Facebook cuddle group I doubt I’d be interested in joining, but there are a few men who have broken me in, cuddle wise. In those moments I like it. I lose myself for a minute in the comfort that is someone else. Someone who I actually care about (and am willing to see his face that close up), and with someone who cares about me in a whole we are-emotionally-attached-to-each-other-kind-of-way. I know…heavy. I feel calm and cool, until I realize that my hand is awkwardly resting sandwich styles between our bodies. I begin to notice it as the pins and needles initially strike. Now what, I begin to wonder? I suddenly feel awkward about it and spend a moment plotting where I can move it to in a sexy and dignified, so-unobvious kind of way. But there never is one because there is no damn place for that random arm to go. It just sits there limp between us as we lie facing one another. So after thinking about it for some time (some is an understatement), I mention it to my softie of a partner. I almost feel like I have to mention it to break the awkwardness because he so must know it’s as awkward as I do. Certainly he is thinking about my arm. My arm that is now asleep. My arm that I so desperately want to/need to move for my own sanity, yet I don’t want to kill ‘the moment’.
Have you and your arm been stuck in this dreaded position? Or are you perhaps a more lovey-dovey kind of folk and you don’t even notice the random arm caught between the two of you as you gaze into his eyes, which are so extremely close up (almost too extremely close up) to your face? I’m not going to lie…sometimes I get wrapped up in that moment that it’s almost worth keeping my mouth shut about the arm mixed up in a concoction of being half asleep and half in pain, in order to stay in that exact moment. Awww. I know, I know. Let’s not dwell on this.
Has your man complained about his awkward arm, asking you to move off of him mid-cuddle, complaining of pins and needles? Let’s not take this request personally. In this day in age where hooking up is the norm, the cuddle session is few and far between that many ladies see the cuddle as something to take part in with a partner they feel strongly for, after their buzz fades. That means women are opening themselves up to the chance to read into way too many things, and those silent actions are killers. We totally misconstrue stories in our head always expecting the worst. Face it ladies, if he’s cuddling you and you are sober, he’s probably into you. So when he asks you to move off his arm, realize the random all-revved-up-with-no-place-to-go arm has made a come back, get off his arm almost immediately (because God knows he likely waited a long enough time to get up the courage to ruin the moment and ask you to change positions). It’s not you, it’s not him, it’s the trapped arm that still remains an unsolved mystery in the cuddle department of couples everywhere.