A Breakthrough

I asked one of the instructors from my university why it was so hard to make friends with people in town. He said that most of the people in this country get to know each other in grade school and then they stay friends for life.

I figured I was screwed.

In the U.S. it has become rare to stay in one place for your whole life so this sort of friend-making method isn’t common.

I went to see a doctor at the school’s clinic because I felt like I was having some adjustment issues. I ended up telling her about my small town non-romance and which she found highly entertaining. The lady who runs the local hardware store has become somewhat of a confidant and she had a similar reaction. “That is so small town,” she said.

My male PhD supervisor had an even more eloquent response and declared most Kiwi males to be “emotionally constipated.”

I’ve been getting into some DIY projects around the house to keep myself busy.

I put together a night stand a few days ago and I went to a city hardware store to buy some paint for a bookshelf on Monday.

I was surprised when a man there glanced toward my feet and said, “Those are some pretty flash gummies.”

It took me a minute to figure out that he was talking about my purple and black gum boots. 

At the register the girl ringing me up asked me what part of the U.S. I was from and told me she had visited Massachusetts last year.

I was feeling so happy at being spoken to that I marched confidently down the sidewalk toward my house and decided to speak to a neighbor who was digging around under some shrubbery.

“Hello!” I said brightly.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, making the universal startled gesture of a hand across the chest.

I introduced myself and we spoke about the fact that are kids are in the same grade. She was very nice and said we should go do some lawn bowling sometime after downing a few beers. I said that sounded great.

The next day I went to a gas station and asked the young fellow working there to help me figure out the pump. I was a little disgusted with myself for acting so helpless but he was very friendly and smiled at me whenever I looked at him. His fingers brushed mine when he was showing me how to use the pump and I saw that they were black with oil and grease. I thanked him for his help and he grinned and said “sweet as.”

Yesterday I was walking to the library when I heard a nearby construction worker singing. He had a lovely voice and when I looked at him he said, “Morning!” in a cheery voice. The greeting made my day.

I feel like I’ve been nursing a serious case of hurt feelings and was teetering dangerously close to pitching a hissy fit in which I stamped my foot and yelled, “Why don’t any of you like me?!”at some public venue.

I’m glad it never came to that. I’ve gained renewed hope in the mate-finding process.