a simmering pot (the art of patiently waiting for something to happen)

I have many attributes, tenacious, compassionate, veracious — but apparently patience is not one of them, for if it were I’d still be simmering along.  But, wiser than at sixteen the question of why I should agree to simmer became less appealing the more I was expected to wait, and wait, and wait.  Simmering along, until he decided he was comfortable enough or free enough to remove me from the simmering pot and take me from the kitchen to the bedroom, and beyond.  

It seems I could not simmer along unattended.  Henceforth, the reason I’m currently outside the simmering pot and no longer waiting for something to happen, which in all honesty, wasn’t likely to happen in the first place, given the history.  

But, let me back up a wee bit.  To clarify.  Over the last decade I have reconnected with several kids I knew from my grammar and high school years Finding, catching-up and keeping in touch as adults has been one of the most rewarding things I have ever done.  As a result I have gained some awesome-good friends and I would not have missed this for all the tea in China.  

Naturally a few of these awesome-good new friends are men.  One in particular had a crush on me back then — therein lies the conundrum.  This accomplished, learned man well into his salt & pepper years seems to be fantasizing like a sixteen year old.  I can not see it any other way.  Projecting onto me all that he has imagined to be true.  Naturally, given our advanced age I assumed [never good to assume] he was learning to appreciate and like me as the woman I have become without any preconceived notions.  Not so, it seems.  Alarming?  To say the least, it is, definitely.  

Such a disappointment this whole mess has been.   So much so I have officially taken myself off the market.

I had never been asked to be patient and wait.  Thinking this was a bit of a strange request, but having nothing better to do, I was willing to let it play out and see what would happen.  But alas, patience evaded — replaced by push-push-push, well, not so much push as an unwillingness to “stay-put” and “stay-simmering” until he got to where he thought he needed to be, wherever that was.   Which I don’t know but I do know simmering along in silence simply is not my style.  I’ve never been a backseat driver, truth be told.  I like it up-front and personal.  I like conversation with someone who is interested in me as a mate.  I love all the bantering back and forth.  I adore all the little things.  I am not willing to settle.  So I did not.  I am out of the simmering pot — apparently lacking in the art of patiently waiting for something to happen.


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