Sometimes you just have to sit back and ask yourself, "Why in the world do we act this way?!" Most people will tell you that there is a certain finger on a person's left hand that is reserved for a certain piece of jewelry that signifies that this person is not available to negotiate a relationship beyond friendship, unless you are the one to which that person is committed. Yes, that's a lot of words to describe "the wedding ring finger."
Recently, I've had a difficult situation that required me to totally end a friendship with this guy. I decided that I just didn't want to deal with men for a while. I started wearing a ring I usually don't wear because it fits best on my left ring finger and while I don't usually want to give the impression that I'm not available, I didn't care if that's what people thought at this point.
What a rebellious action this is. I put a ring on my finger! Now, people will think I'm 'off the market' when I'm really not dating anyone. It's true in the sense that I want to send the message that I don't care for dating men right now. To them, I am off the market. Ooo, that's devious. Just call me a rebel; the black sheep among snow white wool; bad to the bone, bad.
So, I've sworn off men for the time being and have this ring on that certain finger to prove I'm not looking for a relationship. Then I find myself seeing a really attractive, nice-seeming guy and wondering if he would be interested if he knew I was available. I hope that some miracle might happen and he'll ask me out. But, OH NO! Not with a ring on that finger, so I hurry and switch it to the other hand. Just in case. The waiter at the restaurant, the guy that keeps glancing at you during intermission, the guy inching his way home during rush hour in the lane next to you; any one of them could be a man with guts enough to seize the opportunity. That's why the switch seems so imperative at the time.
Nothing happens, though. In fact, the waiter is just doing his job, the guy at intermission is looking at everyone sitting across from him, and the guy in the next lane over takes the next opportunity to weave in front of you and off the next exit. Eh, it was all dreaming anyway. So, I switch my ring back to that finger and decide I've made the right decision, until the next guy passes who might be the one who cares to know I'm available.
There's really no one endowed with enough telepathic powers that they can decipher all the 'signals' you're dishing out; that they can know that you're just playing the game; that they can make the first move and get a 'yes' because you're not as disinterested as you appear. And yet, you keep playing that game. You keep up the charade that hasn't really worked to get you results, but somehow keeps your brain satisfied that you're doing all you can.
Oh, Dating Game, how ridiculous you can be!
