Extreme Measures
When I am really in a panic about the boyfriend thing (you know, not having one and freakishly trying to find one) my mind wanders to the extreme.
Going with advice given by so many dating coaches and websites on how to meet men, I will take all kinds of classes. Sailing classes where I will almost drown. Horseback riding where I will break my leg and trapeze, where I will miss the net. After some high medical costs and STILL no one asking me out, next I will seek out my love on foreign grounds.
On my travels I will probably get kidnapped by pirates (none of whom will consider being in a committed relationship), drink an unknown elixir in Beijing and wake up with a tattoo of a dragon covering every inch of my left arm (which will impress no man) and get lost in the Bush of Australia, only to accidently poke out my right eye while learning to use a typical Aboriginal cooking instrument. It will be clear that aboriginal men like women with two eyes instead of one.
Since traveling the planet will prove unsuccessful and detrimental to state of my body, I will purchase a seat on the first passenger shuttle into space, hoping the man in the moon is still available and open to a committed relationship. This too will prove unsuccessful as the man in the moon and Mother Earth already have a thing going. I should have thought of that before I bought the ticket.
Then one day, after most of my life has passed, and I’m sitting in a crappy little nursing home (because I will have spent all my money on the boyfriend search), and I’m all cracked and old, a stranger will wobble into my room. A man, barely lucid yet intriguing, with a wide smile and handsome eyes. He will tell me he remembers me. That we took a sailing class together one time, that I was horrible but he thought I was cute. That he wanted to ask me out but that I was always looking around when I talked to him. He assumed I was looking for my boyfriend, waiting for him to pick me up or something like that. I will sadly say “I was.”
He will ask me if I am seeing anyone now. I will laugh, look around my empty, beige room and say “No.” And then, in a crazy twist of fate, he will ask me the only question I have ever wanted to be asked. “Will you be my girlfriend?” In that moment, the world will pause. A ray of sunlight will shine on my face, highlighting a youthful glow that once existed there. I will smile a gummy, toothless, smile and be filled with pure joy, love, fulfillment and peace. Glistening, delicate tears will drop from my eye and in a whispered, soft, almost inaudible voice, I will say the words I’ve been longing, yearning, aching to say my entire life. I will say “Yes. I will be your girlfriend.” And then I will drop dead.
Maybe I should stop looking around and start looking at what’s in front me. Might save me an eye or two. Happy hunting!
GIRL, that post sounds tragic, but hilarious!
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