Picture this. Girl meets boy. Girl likes boy. Girl falls head over heels for boy.
Boy might like girl. Boy clearly likes girl. Wait, does boy like girl?
Girl makes attempt to hang out with boy. Boy can't go. Girl makes attempt to hang out with boy. Boy can go but something comes up. Girl makes attempt to hang out with boy. Boy forgets. Girl makes attempt to hang out with boy. Boy has really good excuse.
Girl is scolded by highly feminist best friend. Girl makes attempt to hang out with boy. Boy has really good excuse.
A likely story, right? On my never ending quest to find Mr. Right...who am I kidding....Mr. Right Now...I've set myself up for a one-sided game. In a sense, I'm basically playing fetch with myself. I'm throwing the ball and waiting...and waiting...and eventually throwing my hands up and retrieving the ball myself. That is, only to throw it out there again.
No America, I am not that desperate. I met a very kindred soul that produced instant
sparks. Now I'm on a quest to capture the heart of that kindred soul. As you can see, I am clearly failing. It is kind fun, the chase I mean. In the eye of the feminist, I should just strap on my apron right now, tighten up my girdle, quit my job and begin practicing domestic living. It is a horror to actually pursue someone so...adamantly and with reckless abandon. Its kind of misogynistic.
It is not called desperation it is called fortitude. Never giving up. I once waited 8 hours in line just to be a foot away from Queen Elizabeth II for a hot second. I waiting in line for the Cage the Elephant Concert for 3.5 hours just so I could be in the front row. I'm good at waiting and I'm good at never giving up. It would be one thing if I kept trying and trying to throw the ball and picking it up where it landed. But honestly, I think I throw the ball and it does get picked up and dropped closer to me. Because each time I go to retrieve it...it doesn't seem as far away as the last time.
Until next time....