romance confuses me. i’ll be honest.
i think flowers as gifts = lame sauce. mostly because i seem to kill tulips too often to enjoy them. get me a basil plant, instead. i once had a basil plant for eight months. and then i moved to boston and i’m pretty sure my little plant-baby died from heartbreak. or something.
if i am about to go on a date, i do the opposite of most females; i take my make-up off. i don’t believe in delusions that involve me wearing make-up on a regular basis.
i did free-writes for my non-fiction class and one concluded with the following: “all i really want now is muddy knees and a nice guy (who likes his mom) to eat popsicles with me.” and it’s the truth. i’m a very simple creature.
i’m going to whisper this next part, so i don’t startle anyone: i don’t find ryan gosling very attractive.
cuddling gets old about an hour into cuddling. i also do not like spooning, i’ve come to find.
fifty percent of the dates i’ve been on, i haven’t realized i was on a date until three hours into the outing. or even worse, after the date had ended. someone usually tells me i was on a date.
i’ve seen “the notebook” three times. first time, i laughed. second time, i fell asleep. third time, i also fell asleep and i’m pretty sure i laughed in my sleep. i do not regret any of this, only the 90 minutes i lost from not sleeping through the movie the first time.
and if anyone, anyone at all ( i don’t care how cute you are or how much you like your mother) quotes “such great heights” to me (” i am thinking it’s a sign/ that the frecklesin our eyes are mirror images and / when we kiss they’re perfectly aligned”), they are clearly asking for me to make gagging noises. loudly. in public. with a vulgar hand motion, for emphasis.
i seem to have this romance thing all wrong.
and i’m okay with it.
i always thought turning 21 would mean i was much more capable of romance and flirting and coy glances across rooms. but i’m not. and i’m glad. because hair flips and text messages do not a romance make. and i’d like a romance that not even nicholas sparks could ever fathom. with diabetes-inducing levels of popsicles. and that’s when i’ll know.