Mr. Match = Mr. Not_A_Match_For_Me

I've had a most interesting couple of days. Bob/Mr. Match's daughter and her friend/traveling companion have been staying with me. They are lovely young ladies. Jenn (the daughter) is working on a second B.A., in interior design, preparing to pursue an M.A. in architecture. Valerie, her friend, is pursuing an M.A. in teaching of English as a second language. They are delightful — perfect houseguests. We've had a nice time getting to know each other.

Tonight I had TSO tickets and had asked Bob to go with me, in a moment of weakness during one our every-two-weeks "dates". (Oh, call it whatever you want.) He suggested we ask the girls if they wanted to go (they're mid-20s) and to my shock they said yes. So the four of us went to Rio Cafe for dinner and then to the concert.

You know I've become best friends with Richard and Eduardo, the owners of Rio Cafe. I adore these men, as they do me. They've told me I have a standing invitation to stay with them whenever I return to Tucson after moving to Youngstown. Well, as my best friends, these men are very protective of me. They want the best for me, and that includes the best man who's going to treat me right. They look sideways at any man I bring into Rio (so far only Frank and, now, Bob).

The three of us are all open and warm and loving with each other, and there are hugs all around when I walk in. So tonight I collected hugs, then turned to introduce Richard to the girls and Bob. I was really shocked at how [what's the opposite of outgoing?] Bob was. He almost mumbled hello. The girls were very outgoing, warm, shaking hands, eye contact, "nice to meet you". Bob almost mumbled and seemed to look at the floor.

Whenever I am waited upon at Rio, I make sure to learn the server's name and speak to him or her by name. When Chris came up to take our orders, I started a conversation with her. The girls and I were easy with the repartee; while Bob was withdrawn, quiet, and lacking in personality. That's it. That's the definition of his behavior all evening: devoid of personality. Hmmm. I had never seen that before.

When we first started dating, he told me he didn't have many friends in Tucson, as his fianceé had been based in Chicago and was always commuting back and forth to Chicago for work. When she was in Tucson, she was busy with laundry and manicures. I told him I had lots of friends who would welcome him into the circle and the activities. He stated that he was interested in developing this facet of his life, but whenever I suggested dinner or some other activity with friends, he'd decline. (Jill, remember the almost-dinner at Galo's?) So tonight, seeing how he really didn't know how to interact with people, how to make small talk, was really eye-opening.

The man doesn't have a life. I really think he doesn't have a life. He has work. He has acquaintances at work. He has a handful of women he dates — I don't know how many and how frequently, and I don't want to know. He doesn't know how to make conversation. He can talk about his work, and problems he's having in the mismanaged company for which he works. But he doesn't know how to ask questions and draw a person out, how to learn more about a person.

At some point tonight it hit me as sharply as if a glass of cold water had been thrown in my face. He is arrogant. (I figured that out last summer, but thought I could downplay it.) He is self-centered. (How many hours can you go on about the problems with your job without being ready to stop kvetching?) HE DOESN'T DESERVE ME. (Huzzah! Huzzah!)