Many people believe that love is the identification of their soul’s counterpart in another. Others believe that love is finding your life’s partner, your happiness, or your passion. I am of the school of thought that love is the ability to not act like a complete spazz in front of someone, and have them do the same to you. You know those people in high school that had shiny hair and were effortlessly able to flirt with whoever they were attracted to? That wasn’t me. I know I’m attracted to someone when I can barely form words around them. It’s the perfect inverse relationship. Do I find you morally repugnant, or I’m terrified by your eating habits? I can flirt with you like a Victoria’s Secret model, or like a life coach on The Game. Wait, I like you? I think you’re cute, and I’m already fantasizing about our third date on a Ferris wheel? Oh, now I’m having symptoms somewhat similar to anaphylactic shock. I try to pretend like my heightened version of Zooey Deschanel’s “adorkable”/every-quirky-girl-
next-door antics are attractive. You know, drooling, babbling, and turning as
red as a tomato. I know they’re not, but still. a girl can dream.
A couple weeks ago, a large tree branch decided that it no longer wanted to be shackled to the roots of its tree. It took an unceremonious free fall of forty feet onto my car, snuggling itself about 2-3 inches into the car's hood. The police were called, and the cop who came out to deal with the wreckage was incredibly cute. We teased back and forth with each other while picking tree remnants off of my car. And then, there was A Moment. A Moment where I could introduce myself, establish my confident-yet-demure (well, ideally) personality, and ask his name (with a smile). A Moment that could become The Moment, where our eyes meet and birds sing and a Colbie Calliat song plays and 3 months later there's a dramatic reunion in the rain. Cosmo had tried to train me for this….and oh boy, did I fail. After some flirting, he pulled out his pad of paper and asked “okay, what’s your name?”. A simple question, we’re only taught it when we’re 3 years old. I have the full opportunity to introduce myself, maybe exchange numbers or more information, maybe plan a date, plan a life, etc. And then I respond---“actually, it’s my mom’s car”. Yeah? The guy asks you your name, and instead of giving him ANY sort of information to identify you with, let alone form a relationship, you go with identifying ownership of a vehicle? Yes. You just did that. The cop eventually cut his losses and left, after some more teasing back and forth. I'm sure you're wondering "why didn't you just introduce yourself later?". Excellent question. I'd like to know the answer as well.
By some small miracle (or God's way of saying "hey, I'll give you a second chance) I ran into the cop again. At this point, he has only seen me as a sweaty, non-made up, work out clothed mess, with my hair scraped back into a greasy ponytail. (Question, real fast: why do hair and make-up only behave when your parents are the only ones around to witness it? Discuss). But, no matter. At our second meeting, we had a 20-minute conversation, and after several babbling tangents (for some reason I was real excited about telling him that my car was still drive-able), I skulked away. I thought of several witty, fantastic, and flirty comments 10 minutes after the fact. I fully take responsibility for this awkwardness, and as a result, fully expect to end up a cat lady. If you guys have a crawl space I can live in, I'd appreciate it. I'll be sure to give your kids rabies and hiss at natural sunlight. And cats of the world? Get at me.