Baby Steps

The third time my boyfriend dumped me his parting blow was, "I'm sorry, babe, you're just... boring."

"Boring how?" I asked him. "Like, in terms of compatibility or how interesting I am."

He titled his head to one side, fingers on his chin like he was in deep thought. My ego wilted in preparation for his answer, like an ant cowering in the presence of an overhead foot.

"Both," he said because crushing my ego was easy as pie for him. "It's both."

"How?" I challenged him. "I'm an interesting person. I do things. I like art. I…"

He gave me a pitying smile like he couldn't believe he'd stooped so low. "Suzie, pretending to like art isn't the same and let's be honest. All you do is... wear pyjamas and watch television."

I opened his mouth to deny it and then I stopped. The truth was, he was right. I did wear pyjamas and watch television. A lot. And he was one of those guys who was always on the move, always jumping into one thing after the next. It was exhausting and I was glad he was dumping me.

Maybe now I'd be able to relax a little.

"Thank you," I told him. "Guess I'll see you never?"

He shot up when I stood and left the coffee shop, following me at lightning speed. "Wait. We can still be friends, Suze?"

I pressed the button at the pedestrian crossing and looked at him over my shoulder. "Now that would be boring."

+

It hit me when I was in my orange, velvety pyjamas and on my fifth episode of Friends that actually, I was bored out of my mind. Maybe it was time to get a hobby. After a quick Google search for 'easy hobbies to learn' I settled on...practising yoga. I wasn't the most athletic girl but I was no slouch either.

How hard could it be?

+

Yoga was a disaster and I gave up on it after I limped into work one day and had to endure a round of whistles and being asked about the mystery man revving my engines. One quick to HR later, I was scouring the internet for another thing to do that would instantly up my interesting quota. Something that wouldn't leave me injured or harassed by the class clown.

Write a poem.

... well, I could barely come up with a birthday greeting for my friends and family so that was out of the question.

Watercolour painting.

Everything I'd ever drawn or painted in life looked like various hues of vomit. Hard pass.

Knitting or crochet.

This one I embraced wholeheartedly. I spent three hours ordering supplies, watching countless tutorials and cleared out an entire Saturday to make myself a scarf. The sound of the needles clacking together made me feel accomplished and I grinned to myself.

... and then my phone buzzed and I spent the rest of the evening arguing about the motivations of fictional characters. By the time I threw my phone away in disgust, the yarn and needles had slipped to the floor.

They stayed there for a while.

+

Determined and downtrodden, I persisted and scoured the web again.

Take an online course.

Too much work. Plus I'd already enrolled in seven courses none of which I'd paid attention to for more than a week.

Web design.

It was only my bank balance that stopped me from launching my laptop across the room after too many hours spent begging the free software to work by itself.

Learn an instrument

The guitar I bought might not have amounted to anything, but it did up my cool cred on Instagram.

I added this one to my plus column because my social media status was intrinsically tied to my interesting level. Still, it wasn't enough. The next time I went on a date, I wanted to be able to list all of the things I did. Not laugh and twirl my hair and hope the guy breezed past my non-answer.

Scrapbooking.

I thought about this one long and hard. Enough to know that I didn't have the patience for it.

Singing.

My neighbours kindly told me to shut the fudge nuts up.

+

Eventually, I settled on a cooking class. They always seemed fun and quaint on television. Everyone banded together to create perfectly presented meals and laughed, the perfect way everyone did on television. Bright eyes, wide smiles and happy hearts.

Unfortunately, television and real life? They were not the same. There was no quippy instructor who made everyone smile with joy. Instead, we had to deal with Roy, who looked like he'd rather drive over his own foot than teach us mere mortals how to make chicken parmesan.

He raced through the instructions quickly and spent most of the session on his phone and nipping outside for cigarette breaks. The people around me seemed to get on with it, but I was not like them. Stoves and ovens were my Kryptonite. They did not like me. I did not like them. The fear was mutual. And unfortunately, after forty-five minutes, the black smoke billowing out of the oven next to me was a welcome sight.

This was my element.

Wondering if my eyebrows would survive, dumping hot pans in the sink and pretending I was in a sauna when the cold water splashed down and the steam rose up.

Unfortunately, Roy didn't take it too well.

+

I was banned from the cooking class shortly after I tossed out the charred chicken and I made my way to the parking lot. Footsteps came after me and I turned to see an unfamiliar man. He was nice looking, I suppose, but at this point, I was mad at myself.

Was there anything I was good at?

"Hey, Suzie is it?"

"Who wants to know?" I said, channelling my best made-for-TV mobster voice.

The guy laughed and said, "The guy in charge of the cooking program you were thrown out of. I teach the advanced class, while Roy does the beginner's class."

"Oh." I poked some gravel on the floor, not wanting to see the amusement in his eyes. "Do you need my credit card information for the damage?"

"No. I'd like for you to come back."

I snapped my head up, eyes wide because what? He wanted me to come back? Did he not realise I was one sausage roll away from burning the entire place down?

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"C'mon. I'll keep a close eye on you, the way Roy was supposed to."

"Listen…" I trailed off and waited for him to offer his name, a little something I'd picked up at work. The best way to let someone down was to give it a personal touch.

"Derek," he offered. "My name is Derek."

"Well, Derek, the truth is that I only did this because my boyfriend - ex-boyfriend now actually - told me I was boring."

"...he seems like such a catch."

"He wasn't that bad," I said automatically, although I didn't know what was so good about him either. "He was right. I am a boring person. And I've failed at every single thing I've done to make myself interesting."

"You know, if you want to better yourself, you should do it because you want to, and not because some guy put you down."

"I have been!" I insisted. Derek raised an eyebrow, and I contemplated his words briefly.

Fine.

Maybe I hadn't.

The way I'd given up easily, jumping from task to task because I didn't pick them up right away. My goal had been to change something about myself so I could brag about it on Facebook and passive-aggressively tag my ex-boyfriend. To prove him wrong when in reality, I didn't owe him anyway.

"I take it the penny has dropped."

"Kinda," I replied. "I guess I can give cooking a try again. It would be nice to eat something other than ramen."

With that said, Derek walked me back into the centre and I managed to make it through the rest of the class unscathed.

….well, I ended up with a jug of cheese sauce all over my cashmere sweater, but hey - baby steps.

Fin.