This won’t come as a shock to anyone who has known me for more than 30 seconds, but I was pretty late to the game when it comes to the dating thing. Girls who sweat Commander Riker on Star Trek: The Next Generation were not really prom queen material at SHP. My high school (and let’s be honest: most of college) days were spent nursing crushes on my guy friends while being the funny sidekick. I was Duckie.
Consequently, I’m remarkably naive – some may even say clueless – when it comes to flirting, dating and dealing with the opposite sex. I’m honest to the point of freaking people out and I am missing the “play it cool” gene. Mama has no game, kids.
“Why do you want to walk me to the restaurant? Do you think I can’t find it myself?”
“Why do you want my number? We just sat here and talked baseball. What, you want to call me later?”
When a guy chats me up I immediately look for the bucket of pig’s blood in the rafters and wonder, “Maybe he needs me to tutor him in French” or “Maybe this is a dare like in She’s All That” and then I remember I GRADUATED FROM HIGH SCHOOL ALREADY and my life is not a Freddie Prinze Jr movie. It may seem like I’m remarkably cynical, but I’m actually insanely trusting to the point where I get hurt repeatedly. At the very least, I’m always shocked when someone behaves in a less-than-honorable way. And I definitely don’t get how someone could be so mean to another person after declarations of love and the desire to share a life together.
I’m not really sure where I’m going with all of this. It’s just been a weird month or so of extremes among my friends and family: beautiful weddings and joyful pregnancy announcements or horrible heart-wrenching break ups. It has all made me reflect on relationships and love and all the stuff we go through. It’s a miracle anyone ever gets together, really.