(no subject)
The more I think about the Jimmy Fallon quiz results (and I say that as though I've been here biting my nails in distress over them), the more I can't help but think that maybe they're right.
In all my years, I have never dated anyone who had a crush on me. I've never gone out with a guy who's approached me out of the blue. I've never given in to the affectionate gazes and coy winks from across a room. It turns me off.
The most I can admit to is that I've entertained some of the notions in my own head. And I've been misleading about my intentions. I've given out my phone number to gentlemen who have asked and thought, with a sick feeling in my stomach, about their potential conversations.
I've accepted invitations to dances and gone missing. The only thing to my credit on this issue is that my acceptance was conditional on terms that didn't pan out. But still I accepted. And I never planned to attend.
I guess I honestly can't imagine a guy being satisfied with me. Who, in their right mind, would set their sights on me? There's always someone prettier, funnier, or smarter. A better flirt, a better dancer, a softer shoulder to lean on. If I'm the best that some poor guy can hope for, then, dang, there's something wrong with him.
And yet I have a boyfriend. How did this happen?
I snagged him myself, of course. He barely knew me and didn't even begin to consider me as a potential mate. But I soon pounced on him and let him see that there's something very special in me. But I'm still not the prettiest, the funniest, or the smartest. He's had to settle, maybe. He doesn't seem to think of it that way.
I'm lucky, though, that he wasn't a snob to me. Or else the best thing to happen to me would have been missed. But who's to say that I didn't pass up a good thing on my path to Leon? Nah. I doubt it.
In all my years, I have never dated anyone who had a crush on me. I've never gone out with a guy who's approached me out of the blue. I've never given in to the affectionate gazes and coy winks from across a room. It turns me off.
The most I can admit to is that I've entertained some of the notions in my own head. And I've been misleading about my intentions. I've given out my phone number to gentlemen who have asked and thought, with a sick feeling in my stomach, about their potential conversations.
I've accepted invitations to dances and gone missing. The only thing to my credit on this issue is that my acceptance was conditional on terms that didn't pan out. But still I accepted. And I never planned to attend.
I guess I honestly can't imagine a guy being satisfied with me. Who, in their right mind, would set their sights on me? There's always someone prettier, funnier, or smarter. A better flirt, a better dancer, a softer shoulder to lean on. If I'm the best that some poor guy can hope for, then, dang, there's something wrong with him.
And yet I have a boyfriend. How did this happen?
I snagged him myself, of course. He barely knew me and didn't even begin to consider me as a potential mate. But I soon pounced on him and let him see that there's something very special in me. But I'm still not the prettiest, the funniest, or the smartest. He's had to settle, maybe. He doesn't seem to think of it that way.
I'm lucky, though, that he wasn't a snob to me. Or else the best thing to happen to me would have been missed. But who's to say that I didn't pass up a good thing on my path to Leon? Nah. I doubt it.