get smart

Not too long before I moved, I was out with friends at Molly Malone’s, the tavern wench’s new favorite bar. Inevitably, the more black and tans we drank, the more intense the conversation became. It got a little sparky though, when for some reason, this question was asked (maybe by me): “So, who’s the smartest one at the table?”

“I’m sorry,” said Jo, facing me head-on. “But you’re not in contention for this at all.”

What!? Sputtering and smacking my hand down on the table, I listed several qualifications that I thought put me in contention for the elite title.

“Yes,” she replied. “You are all of those things. But Lisa, you’re too trusting. You let people take advantage of your good nature.”

Interesting. I never thought of that as something that would take points off of my IQ. But then again, my vote for the smartest person at the table (and the third smartest person I know) went to a woman who is incredibly pragmatic, with exceptional street smarts, even bordering on psychic abilities: Patty.

Typical conversation with Patty:

I met someone recently and was debating whether to ask him out.

“Why don’t you do it?” was the puzzled question from Patty.

“Well. He’s not really my type.”

“Maybe you should try going out with someone who isn’t your type, Lisa.”

Woah. I did not see that one coming.

Patty often leaves me with my mouth hanging open. And of course, thinking about her shrewd comments for days afterward, much to her never-ending aggravation (think of someone who repeatedly asks the same question, beating it into the ground long after everyone else has lost interest).

Even my new landlord got into the act. “I can tell, Lisa, you’re smart about work but you don’t pick the right mens,” she pontificated, her lovely accent emphasizing every word. I like deeply charismatic men, I explained. They aren’t always very nice to me. “You probably need to figure that out,” she said seriously.

No kidding.

I know there’s some truth to what they were trying to tell me. The fact that I tend to date men who borrow money (often without paying it back), borrow my truck (and don’t fill up the tank) or who in general seem to take advantage of my good nature is something that I acknowledge and that I am trying to get past. I want to grow up, start dating adults and find someone who’s right for me. I really do want to do that.

But the thing is, no one starts out by being a jerk.

In the beginning, it’s holding hands. Taking naps together. Generally walking on air. No one asks if you can lend them fifty bucks on the first date. There’s no indication that at some point, they’re going to turn into a rude, ranting drunk. No. That happens later.

And you can never go back to holding hands.

I remember that one from high school sex ed. And there’s some truth in that statement. Sometimes, the more complex our relationships become, the more the sweetness seems to drain away. Instead of talking for hours on the phone, getting and sending flirty emails and sexy text messages and rejoicing in little romantic gestures, the relationship becomes a drawn-out, difficult battle of wits that always leaves me feeling worn out.

I think that I’m pretty good judge of character. But I also know that I often choose to ignore the red flags that are waving all over the place, saying that this isn’t the right person for me.

I want to be smarter about who I allow into my life. Make intelligent decisions. Be the brightest one at the table.

But I also don’t want to lose my wide-eyed optimism... Even if it does make me stupid.