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A nerds-eye-view of “girls”

It’s that time again! Time to reveal yet another in a long list of shocking truths about myself. In previous articles in this series you have learned a wide array of interesting factoids such as: 1) I don’t like sports and 2) I don’t know how cars work. To add to that long and detailed list, today’s interesting Craig fact is:

I am no Casanova.

I know, I know… It’s unbelievable; a sobering sign of a world gone mad. If you need a moment to meditate and take it all in, do so now. I’ll wait.

<insert pause here>

Ok, welcome back.

The truth is that, in general, I am more than a little shy socially. Because of this, my group of friends has always rather small but, when I was younger at least, it included equal parts boys and girls. It was when I finally started to notice that girls were constructed from fundamentally different parts than I was, however, that things changed rather dramatically. You see, prior to this realization, everyone I met had been lumped into the “person” category and I was thus able to actually speak with them, but when I became a teenager it all went to hell. Even in forced social situations, like school, and even with “people” I already knew, things became… awkward…

Me: Did you do the Math homework yet?

Person: Yeah, it wasn’t that bad.
Me: Great, can you help me with the second question?
*popping sound*
Me *staring at their chest*: Were those there a minute ago?
Girl: You’re not on the football team, why the hell am I talking to you?

Ok, that may not be 100% accurate. It was really more of a *boing* sound… and I think she may have kicked me too. In any case, from that point forward I became convinced that all girls hated me and would do everything in their considerable power to ensure that I remained a virgin till I was at least 80 and so I decided to never date. After all, in order to go out on a date, I would have to actually ask a someone, which would in turn require me to communicate with one of these malevolent creatures and that really didn’t seem practical. Thus, by the age of 16 or so, I had already decided that I was going to die a lonely old man who would leave everything he owns to his goldfish (likely named “Mortimer”).

It was probably for the best, since I am quite certain I would not have done very well in the dating arena. When I get nervous I become very… proper, and I can assure you that if I was out at a bar trying to “pick up women” I would be quite nervous. I would likely start sounding like some jackass acting student practicing (badly) for a part in a Shakespearean play.

Me: Pardon me fair maiden but even from yonder barstool one could not help but notice that you possess a level of pulchritude rarely heard of outside of ballads.
Woman: *looks confused*
Me: Barkeep! A beverage for the resplendent young lady!
Woman: *looks frightened*

It really is nothing short of a miracle that I actually found a mate.

Yeah… about that…

I am married so, clearly my whole “die a lonely old man” thing didn’t pan out, but it wasn’t entirely my fault. Life just had other plans for me it would seem. Almost up to the very last minute, I was planning to go “stag” to my Senior Prom, but the friends that I was going with all got dates leaving me with the following choices:

    1. Don’t go
    2. Go as a pathetic dateless loser (“stag” is only ok when you aren’t the only one)
    3. Get a date

And so, because I was forced into actually getting a date to the Senior Prom, that is how I met my wife, Karrie. That sounds so much worse that it is meant to. I didn’t need to be forced to ask her out as the result of any shortcomings on her part, believe me, but still the start of our relationship wasn’t exactly the makings of a romance novel. I would love to spin some fantastic tale about how my wife and I first met and started dating. Something flowery that tugs on the heart-strings. Something like:

I saw her from across a crowded room, unable to avert my gaze from her beauty, her hair glimmering like dewdrops in the bright summer sun. As if sensing my gaze upon her, she suddenly looked my way. Our eyes met and I could feel an instant connection; my stomach began to flutter as if the caviar and champagne I had just had were flirting capriciously with each other inside of me. Suddenly conscious of her sweeping gaze I quickly checked my appearance, appalled to find that there was a small wine stain on the cuff of my shirt. Sensing my dismay, her expression softened as if to say “Such things don’t matter to me”. And so, without a word, the stage was set for our life together…

But, sadly, it was really more like:

I saw her across the crowded classroom, staring at her for an inappropriately long time. Her friends caught me staring at her and whispered something to her, laughing. She turned her gaze my way and I felt like I was going to hurl; that’s the last time I have Cheetos and Mountain Dew at the same time. Feeling a little exposed with her glaring at me, I quickly checked to see if my fly was open, only to find that one of the football players had just pantsed me. Sensing my dismay, her expression softened as if to say “Really? Spiderman Underoos?”. And so, without a word, the stage was set for our life together…

Truthfully, Karrie, being one of the few people on the planet who found my jokes to be funny, was my first and only choice to ask out. If she had said no, I am pretty sure I would have immediately started executing my original plan and picked up a goldfish on the way home. But, seeing as I am thoroughly married to her, it’s pretty clear that she did not say no. On the contrary, due to what I can only assume is an epic lack of judgement on her part, she said yes… three times, in fact. Yes to the prom, yes to dating me, and eventually yes to marrying me.

Now, while I realize that marrying the first girl I ever dated doesn’t exactly make me an expert on relationships, I like to think of myself as a fairly observant and empathic person. I truly believe that, despite my lack of direct empirical evidence, I understand women about as well as any man can. And although I didn’t go into very much detail about my experiences with girls when I was younger, if I had to summarize them I would say that, with very few exceptions, teenage girls are pure evil right down to the deep black frozen core of their obsidian hearts.

There are those, I am sure, that will beg to differ with my opinion and likely because they lost their virginity in school broom-closet at the age of 16, while my interactions with girls when I was young were typically not what you would call “warm and inviting”. To these folks, I don’t really have a rebuttal that isn’t laced with jealousy, and therefore I stand by my original assessment.

What got me thinking about all of this recently was the fact that my son just started high school, and is now surrounded by the special industrial-strength high school variety of girls every day. He is likely already riding the same emotional roller-coaster that I did when I was his age and there is really no way that I can possibly prepare him for what is coming.

I cannot decide if I should wish him luck, or buy him a goldfish.

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