Dating from a Girl’s Perspective

Dating from a Girl's Perspective

Photo by Cartoon courtesy of Darcy Christiansen

Megan Monson, Op/Ed Editor

Why did Dad have to be so embarrassing? I mean seriously, cleaning the gun, again? He just did it an hour ago! Not cool, Dad, not cool.

Aw he’s going to open my door, that’s so cute… we’re totally going to get married. We’ll have three children, no four, five it is. The girls will be named…

“Thanks J Rod.” Why does he go by J Rod? Some sort of childhood trauma?

He might have responded but I don’t really know what he said. I was way too into the whole J Rod thought.

Anyway back to the children maybe Heather? No, definitely not, it’s a nice name but it just wouldn’t fly… oh, is he talking to me? This is my favorite song! I really want to sing along but he might think my voice is ugly, maybe I’ll hum … that sounded like I was a dying moose, I hope he didn’t notice.

What should I talk about? Is it too early to bring up our future children? Maybe our wedding colors would suit nicely… “So the weather’s nice,” is all that comes out of my mouth–face-palm– what was I thinking? That’s not a good conversation starter. All he does is nod his head, and turns up the music a little bit. That is the ultimate sign that I did something wrong, what can I do to fix it?

Oh, look he has one hand on the console, should I slyly put my arm up near his? Maybe he’ll hold my hand… nope; he just moved his hand back to the steering wheel… dang. I really messed that up. Maybe I can make it up to him at dinner; I ate before so I wouldn’t look like a pig.

I ordered a side salad… and so did he; you were supposed to get real food!! Duh, boys just don’t get it… Why is he playing footsies with my chair? I’ll just ignore that.

Why isn’t he saying anything? This is the longest silence I’ve ever been through…ever. Will this date just end so I can go home and cry? Wow, a side salad does not take much time to eat.

“Would either of you like some dessert?” the waiter asks. Of course I’d like dessert but I just had a side salad for dinner, really do you think I’m going to eat dessert? Oh, that Strawberry Cheesecake looks so good, maybe… No, absolutely not, no dessert.

He’s taking me to the Nickelcade, that’s so cute! He’ll probably just let me win at every game. Ick, that guy over by the DDR really, really needs to shower, and get some real food, maybe I should suggest that place we went for dinner. Oh wait, I don’t actually know what their food tastes like, I just had a side salad.

He only scored 90 points at Skee-ball, probably because he wants me to win. I scored 500; I feel so cool right now. Wait, is he even trying?

He beat me at the basketball game, maybe he wasn’t actually trying to let me win, or maybe he’s going to go like every other: I win one, he wins one, I win one, etc. etc. That would be cute. Maybe that’s how he’ll raise our kids, so they each get a turn winning. Aw, that’s such a cute picture. I feel guilty; I can practically hear his stomach growling with hunger. He really should have eaten something other than that salad… why did I have to be so stupid, I’m like those prissy girls who are “trying to watch my figure.” Yeah right, your figure’s already perfect; eat a meal once in a while.

This place smells like burnt hot dogs and jellied cheese, it’s disgusting. Oh there’s my friends, I’ll just ignore them maybe they won’t notice us. Of course they did, one of them waves and gives me a thumbs up. That’s it, that’s the final confirmation, it was meant to be, J Rod and I are definitely getting married, it’s going to happen! Maybe we’ll get married June 5th, the day after graduation? No, we definitely need to space them apart a bit… June 6th would be perfect.

We get in the car to leave, but this time he doesn’t open my door, the jerk. That’s it, I hate him, and I’ll curse the day he was born. He scrambles for conversation, but I don’t want to talk, I give the bluntest answers I possibly can. Words like “fine” and “sure” become my best friends.

Finally, after the longest ride of my life, we get to my house. This time he opens my door, and walks me to the doorstep. He gives me a hug (at least it’s not a firm handshake) and I slip inside. This night wasn’t a complete disaster. Maybe he’ll take me out next week.