Infatuation,
Not seeing the rest of you, it’s getting the best of me,
Such a shame that you shot me down, would’ve have been nice to be around,
I’m touching your skin, if it’s only a fantasy then why is it killing me,
I guess this must be,
Infatuation…
Don’t be fooled by all the crap they tell you, this is what really makes the world go round, not that love nonsense. That first flush of attraction, the shy knowing smile, the fluttering feeling in the pit of your stomach that makes you think that maybe, just maybe, this one may just be worth the while, the stirrings of what may or may not be longing (read lust)…
The most excellent soundtrack is by the always brilliant Maroon 5. These buggers… Not too often a rocker comes along and blurs the line between mzungu music and what us natives like to call soul, hopping across genres with ease that belies their lack of melanin. Think Phil Collins , Eric Clapton , Michael Jackson
The song is ‘Infatuation’, off their second album (or third if you count the B-side album), a bonus track stuck on the end of the album no less. As much as I love to share a good tune with you, this one you have to go find for yourself, because you need to get the whole album to fully appreciate the genius. If you can’t track it down, email me and I’ll put this song up. I can say that with the peace of mind that comes from knowing you will do no such thing. Don’t worry, I’ll hum the song to you as you read…no really, go ahead…
Baby I don’t wanna spend my life on trial, for something that I did not do,
Maybe if you stopped and looked around sometime, I wouldn’t pass right by you,
Maybe it’s because you are so insecure, maybe you plain don’t care,
Maybe it’s the chase that really gets me off, I falter when it’s just not there…
In my strange universe, attraction often takes one of three forms, instant attraction, grudging acceptance and the sneak attack. Patience, my lovelies, let me explain. Instant attraction is what others call love/lust at first sight, and while I have my romantic moments (I do, really I do), when it comes to men they are few and far between, unfortunately, I can count the number of times it’s happened on one hand. Yes, it’s that rare, but perhaps that’s because I have an almost paranoid distrust of pretty boys and flashy men, to my mind any man who makes such a great effort to look that good must be a deeply troubled individual. What? I’m just saying, narcissistic behaviour is often manifested in male manicures, no? Grudging acceptance, on the other hand, is more common, its where I meet a man and he pisses me off by doing something particularly foolish, in the process earning himself a spot on my ‘men I will one day slap’ list, right below Sonko, but somehow, the man manages to not only redeem himself, he then proceeds to bowl me over with his (often very well disguised) brilliance. The problem with this attraction is that it inevitably fizzles out, once the genius engages in yet another act of spectacular foolishness, and because he’s a man, that day must surely come, no?
The last category, however, is my favourite, because it’s the most devious, and devastating. You know how you meet a guy and he strikes you as not your type? Its not that you don’t like him, you just can’t see it happening between the two of you, he’s too old or too young, too skinny or too fat, too broke or too rich (it happens, no? No, it doesn’t.), too intellectual or too blonde, too alcoholic or too sober, too deviant or…what’s the opposite of deviant? The point is, you write the man off, for whatever random reason, usually without telling the poor bastard. That minor matter then settled, you proceed to relax and let your guard down, convinced that because you don’t fancy him, then he’s harmless. Shock on you when the bugger worms his way past your noble intentions, common sense and strong moral fibre(s), and right into your house, and bed. Stop looking at me like that, I know this shit has happened to you too, today he’s your ‘good friend’ and tomorrow you’re fantasising about the first kiss… don’t be shy, it happens to the best of us.
Now fluffy Rom-Com’s and trashy novels would have us believing that this ‘friends then lovers’ approach is the way to true and lasting love, but I say, bollocks! That’s right, it’s all a load of bullshit. Ladies, that man has no interest whatsoever in being ‘friends’, he’s simply biding his time, waiting for the right moment to launch his campaign. You don’t see it coming, because you’re busy looking in the wrong direction, and whatever strike he makes will hit the intended target, because, unbeknownst to you, you’ve already drawn him the bloody map! It’s a sneak attack, you are completely defenceless against it, but dammit if it isn’t so much fun being led to the slaughterhouse like the proverbial baby sheep…
I try to put my finger on what burns me up, it always seems to escape me,
When you have decided that you’ve had enough, just tell where I need to be,
Now I’m facing something that I never had to ever deal with before,
She left me with the feeling that she had enough, and I’m the one wanting more…
The reason I’m going on about attraction is simply because it’s the spark to the flame of infatuation; first you see it (attraction), then you believe it (infatuation), and then you foolishly go ahead and do it (where ‘it’ is love, or sex, depending). Now, I may not know much about love, clearly, and my theories on attraction border on masochism, again clearly, but if there’s one thing I know well its infatuation. Hell, I’ve pretty much written the book on the damn thing, no? I am an infatuation junkie, I have crushes on everything from random musicians to presidents in homburgs, but can you really blame me? Who here doesn’t love the rush of a new man/woman, the sweet scent of possibility, the fragrant aroma of freshly brewed lust, the allure of lands as yet undiscovered?
Oh come on… you didn’t really think I was actually going to get all lovey-dovey and poetic on your ass? You poor, deluded creature, you must accept that given the slightest opportunity, I will seek the lowest common denominator, she says, as she rubs the small of your back in a calming circular motion…
There’s nothing better than the rush you get when start considering the possibilities of something new, real possibilities, not deranged fantasies of happily ever after with the guy in the flat two floors down, he that doesn’t even know your name. I’m talking about that moment that it finally clicks in your head that something could actually happen with the subject of your (undercover) attention, and that you’re okay with that idea. Better than okay, you’re excited. Your silent crush is about to burst into full blown, publicly acknowledged longing, with the promise of love and happiness in the not too distant future, but only if you don’t blow it by doing something foolish, like talking about the not too distant future of love and happiness. Infatuation is the high wire act in the circus that is a relationship, its tension and drama and ‘heart in your mouth’ suspense. There you are, holding your breath, waiting to see if you’ll make it to the other side and all the (alleged) rewards that lie just a few tantalizing steps away, but one tiny misstep and, to paraphrase Hank Azaria in ‘America’s Sweethearts’, “Puthy boy go thplat!”
I once read that infatuation is triggered by the dopamine in your brain, that’s what makes your heart beat faster and what not, not unlike getting high on drugs. Basically you’re in a excited mental state, its all chemical. Put differently, for all intents and purposes, you’re out of your damn mind. Thing is, once your brain has adjusted to all the new stimuli and calmed down, the effects wear off and you crash back down to earth, but after that rush, when reality sets in, the relationship can sometimes be a bit of a disappointment, no? Think about it, when the bugger in the slinky leotard is done tiptoeing across the wire, how many of you stick around to watch him climb down? Didn’t think so. As lovely as being infatuated is, it’s not real. Wait, that’s wrong, it is real, but it’s really short. Short lived that is, it doesn’t last, which is a probably a good thing considering, can you imagine going through life in a constant state of nervous hyper-excitement, overworked sweat glands, awkward nonsensical giggling and rampant, aching lust? I’ve had two weeks of this nonsense and I’m completely worn out.
That’s right folks, I am currently infatuated with a man, or at least I was until the bastard forced me to do the sane thing and think with my head, instead of my loins, I mean heart, instead of my heart. Bloody killjoy! This being a mature woman thing is not nice, I am seriously not enjoying being clear headed and responsible, thinking about the repercussions of my (occasionally) foolish actions, where’s the fun in that I ask you? It’s a crying shame, is all I’m saying, I want to go back to being a silly teenager, ruled by nothing but hormones. Then again, maybe not. At least now I’m old enough to really know what’s going on, no? Instead of worrying about silly nonsense like how my hair looks and if I’m smelling fresh enough, I can sit back and enjoy it for what it is, a delightful, and temporary, high, and you know I like me some high.
I’m so attracted to you,
The feeling’s mutual too,
I get scared the moment you leave,
It’s so hard I forget to breathe…
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to take another hit off his pipe, because I am a grown ass woman who gets to suck on whatever she wants. I’m talking about the dopamine, you bloody perverts…
