So, I was talking to my uncle – who is, as much as I hate to admit it, the ultimate lad – about recent happenings in my life and the troubles I felt had hitched a ride with them. Basically, I was
reflecting complaining about boys. What else do I have to do? Conversation went as follows:
Uncle – You do pick them though. More than most. Why is that?
Me – I make bad choices
Uncle – Yes. Don’t blame the guys; you picked them all. Let’s blame you
Rude, or what?! As he himself is a bad choice that multiple women have made over the years – which I started hearing about from a much too early age! – it seemed pretty natural for him to put the blame on the girl. But I was having none of it. Why is it my fault?! I pick them when they seem nice and normal. I don’t purposely seek out all nearby pathological liars with enough emotional baggage to fill Heathrow Terminal 5. It’s not my fault that I seem to be the lonely lighthouse in the fog to their lost at sea selves.
As I said last week though, there does come a point when I realise I’ve made a bad choice, but then just carry on doing it anyway. This is the point where it may be fair to shift blame to me. The point where a normal, sensible girl would get out is the point where I seem to go for it just that bit harder – definitely fair to shift the blame to me.
To be perfectly honest with you, I’d never really considered taking any of the blame before. Situations had always resulted in an “Oh, he’s such a [insert expletive felt in the moment]!! Why does this always happen to me?!” Well, it turns out this always happens to me because I let it. I am (partly) to blame.
Now that I am actually aware of it, I will
definitely try to work on it. But as my uncle said,
It doesn’t sound like more than a grade 6 slut-up. You’ll be fine