If you just knew me, you'd fall in love with me

During times of my life (read high school through 2010) I used to think I was kind of a loser because nobody was in love with me. I've since come to the possible conclusion that maybe I wasn't being quite fair to myself, because boys didn't even really see me till 1998. If a girl is not around boys often, it makes sense that said boys would not fall in love with said girl.

Let me tell you about my life.

I went to a private, all-girls school for nine years. And okay, so maybe it was all girls because I was home schooled and I only had a sister, no brothers. That's my parent's fault, not mine. It's true that I saw boys in my Sunday school class, and when I went to visit my other home school friends, because they had brothers. But during all those times, I was mostly trying to avoid cooties, or escape from boys quickly by zipping down the slide, or I'd agree to play hide and go seek with them but purposely never seek them. I wasn't really into winning hearts back then.

I attended a co-ed public high school. My practiced avoidance of boys during my childhood served as a great asset for awkwardness. I actually have a three foot trophy in my garage that was awarded to me for "Most Awkward Personality," which is okay with me, because the "Best Dressed" trophy was only fourteen inches tall. Anyway, when I first entered high school, I discovered that these boys were totally different. Some of them smelled terrible. Others smelled delicious. Most did not wear button-downs or tuck their t-shirts into their corduroy pants, like many of the home schooled boys that I grew up with.

Stranger yet, I didn't know any of the boys' mothers. That's the good thing about knowing home schooled kids: you know their moms right off the bat. They wouldn't dare do anything terrible to you because they know that you would tell their mother, or you would tell your mother and your mother would tell their mother, and then an entire lesson on kindness would take place, possible through listening to an episode of Adventures in Odyssey.

Anyway, during high school I met boys who belted their jeans around their knee caps, had pierced ears, or played five different sports all at the same time. It really freaked me out. How do you even approach someone like that?

After graduating, I essentially went to an all-girls college, because the one I attended was 60% female. Plus I was an education major, which meant all the people in my class were either other girls who wanted to be teachers, or they were guys who liked kids so much they already had three of their own. It was not especially promising.

Let me tell you what I think.

If a guy were to spend at least 30 hours with me in under 3 weeks, I'm pretty sure he'd fall in love with me. This is provided he is not married or has a girlfriend. Ten hours a week with me probably sounds like a lot, especially if you've ever had an awkward conversation with me (which is likely). But the thing is, it'll probably take me a concentrated six hours to get over my awkwardness with you, and it'll probably take you at least two hours to get over your awkwardness with me. After that I'll feel free to start being my actual self. (Sidenote: one reason I am not often my actual self is because when I do so, people make comments about how they think I am drunk. To which I have to reply: No, I'm just this funny sober. But they don't know that because they've spent the last eight hours with me talking to their shoulder, nodding silently, or responding politely to questions).

So yeah, 30 hours with me and then this victimized single man will be in love with me. The main problem with my idea is that no one really gets locked into closets or trapped on deserted islands anymore. I blame this on technology's advance with cell phones and the GPS. Also, on cars. What I needed was to be alive in 1843, during the times of the Oregon Trail. I could've tagged along next to a hunky pioneer boy and we would have covered our 30 hours in no time, fording the river or collecting buffalo chips or whatever. Never mind the fact that I don't look very cute sweaty, or that I've never churned butter. That boy would get so bored walking on the prairie next to all his stinky family members that by the time we hit Fort Bridger, I'd be Mrs. Blacksmith or whoever, putting freshly churned butter into the butter dish I registered for.

You may wonder why I am so sure someone would fall in love with me after just 1,800 minutes of concentrated attention. It's because I've been practicing hypnotism and mind control.

Probably the reason no one is currently in love with me is because they read posts like these on my blog and realize that my sense of humor is nothing like theirs. Plus, they're freaked out because they're unsure if I'm joking or not about the whole hypnotism thing.

Silly boys.