Last week I got engaged which among many other amazing wonderful things, it provides me the opportunity to stop dating–something I was never terribly good at. That’s right folks…my crazy dating history is over FOR GOOD.
When I was in college, a roommate told me: “Boys don’t want girlfriends. They just want new moms.” Although I’m not sure she was exactly accurate in describing the motives of the average college-aged male, she may have been onto something in describing me.
As Max and I begin to plan our wedding, I count my lucky stars to be out of the dating world, because for me dating was like a bad version of that children’s book “Are You My Mother?”
I assume that you are familiar with this repetitive–and, if I may, stupid–book. In it, a tiny, baby bird naively goes wondering, looking for his mother. He stumbles around, asking animals, cars and jet airplanes “Are you my mother?” Not surprisingly, none of these things, animals or objects are, in fact, his mother. And his search continues…
Like this idiotic bird, I began my search at a young age. But unlike the bird, I already knew who my mother was. So, I was on a different quest. A search for “my person”. Someone to laugh at my jokes and
fold my laundry hold my hand. I was on a search for the Mr, but it took me a long time to get to him.
It was in college that my search led me to a dude we’ll call Surfer Sam.
Surfer Sam was a surfer MAJOR. Because I was in school in Southern California for a second, and in Southern California, surfing is an acceptable major. Surfer Sam was a kind and gentle soul who wouldn’t hurt a fly. He also–to the best of my estimations–couldn’t tell the difference between the beach and everywhere else. He was always dressed for surfing, which proved problematic when I brought him to a very fancy work dinner one fateful evening.
After I realized that Surfer Sam didn’t come with any non-pool-themed accessories, I decided to continue my search.
It’s around this time in the book that the bird–delirious from wandering, I assume–finds himself in some potentially dangerous situations, chasing after airplanes, shouting after tugboats and approaching abandoned cars. “Are you my mother?”
Again, I can relate, as I found myself tempting fate with some terrible choices.
Including dating a 21-year-old frat boy who wore a gold watch without irony. And entertaining a brief tryst with a man several years my senior who worked as a pro golf instructor. His hobbies included brooding, treating me poorly and thinking everything was bull shit.
Aren’t we all glad that’s over with?
Like the moronic bird, though, I am indebted to each of my missteps. Because all of the boys and men I encountered on my search ultimately helped to deliver me to my final destination.
So next year, when Max and I raise our glasses to toast the beginning of our marriage, I guess we’ll be toasting these strange characters, too. And how grateful I am to be rid of their crazy faces.