I was at a bash once when a chic made a statement to the effect that if a guy over thirty didn't have a girlfriend, there was something wrong with him. She would be suspicious or something. As much as I really wanted to say something in reply, I couldn't. I have plenty wrong with me.
That aside, I've mentioned how everywhere around me people are going the family way. Some are starting with wives while others have started with kids, but the end result is the same. At this rate I'll need to join a support group for the few of us free electrons left. I've also started to understand what I always heard about people getting married because their friends were doing the same. All of a sudden you start thinking, if everyone is doing it, perhaps it isn't that bad after all. Perhaps it's a "normal" thing to do. That barrier of fear starts slowly coming down. Which makes me think that I could perhaps actually have a girlfriend.
I'm reminded of the last interview I attended. The thing was going badly. I couldn't answer even one question satisfactorily. Then the interviewer, tired and frustrated, asks, out of the blue. "Have you ever had a girlfriend?" When I reply in the negative, calmly and straight-facedly, I'm met with a look of utter bewilderment. He had the statement lined up, ready to come out of the mouth, but was stopped in his tracks. Seeing that made the ordeal that was that interview worth it. This is the one interview during which I knew, and the interviewers knew, that there would be no call back. It's actually after this that I figured that I may not be employable anymore. The way he put it, he'd rather have a guy who doesn't have all the skills than a guy whose personality is suspect. Which is understandable. The only comfort I had to take away with me is that I have once been employee of the year. So.
If I think about it, only
one chic has ever asked that we officially get coupled. But the word boyfriend fills me with all manner of dread so that was the end of that. The only other time I've come close to being defined as a significant other was in first year. The chic with whom I patented what became known as the "1-2 di-methyl shift". I'm not sure how we met actually. I believe I tagged along with some guys to box one day and some time after that word came to me that some chic was asking about me. My response was a vybz kartel. "O-ooo". But I asked for her room number and went over to find out what the story was. Apparently she noticed my shoes, and women make all sorts of decisions based on your shoes.
I slowly found myself being associated with her. Wasn't sure what to make of it because having a recessive romance gene makes these things somewhat difficult. Like the song used to go. "You're as cold as ice...". I tried my best though. The weekend before valentine's I took her out for lunch. I' not into stereotypes and confirmity and hype that much so I figured I wasn't going to do anything on the day itself. Told her as much. The place where we had lunch was giving out roses to the ladies that day for some combination or other of meal. I happened to overhear this on the radio and went there specifically for that. We went out, she got a rose. I figured that I had fulfilled my non-boyfriend obligations and that was the end of that.
On valentine's day itself, we were sitting in the room reading. It was around exam time. I got up, put on some clothes and headed to her room. It would do no harm to hang out. When I got there her room was locked and her neighbours weren't sure where she was or when she would be back. I stalked the corridors a bit but then came back to my senses and went back to my room. The way I saw it, I hadn't told her to expect me so I figured she was off doing something or the other. Which was a-okay. Of course when I got back to my room, changed into more casual clothes and picked up some notes to start reading, the guys gave me these strange looks. "She wasn't there", and I continued with things as normal.
At around 10pm, the door bursts open. Everyone looks up to the sight of a fuming female. An all dressed up fuming female. All eyes turn to me and for a brief moment I feel like I'm about to be subjected to mob justice. Apparently she has been waiting all evening for me. I take her outside and calmly explain that nowhere did I say that I would pass by her place. At no point did I utter any words or behave in any manner to imply that I would meet up with her that day. So her expectations and anger towards me were misplaced. But making legal arguments wasn't going to help the situation. The guys, sensing that my bacon was cooked, slowly shuffle out of the room to continue their reading elsewhere.
I try to salvage the situation and suggest that I could put on a jacket and we could head wherever. Her demeanour indicated that that was what was going to have to happen anyway. So we head out, hang out and before long we're back in the room. I reach into the cupboard-wardrobe thing and bring out a box of chocolates. For her. And a card. And jewellery. Shock and awe. I didn't say I would do valentines. I was perfectly happy not to do valentines. But I thought about it and went out that weekend and got a bunch of stuff for her. Hid it away and spent a couple of days in fear that my room-mate would discover the stuff and make fun of me. The sad thing is that from that evening, I wasn't anywhere near as keen on this particular chic and that is where the story of my near-girlfriend ended.
What's changing now, partly because of everyone getting into rather serious commitments, is that I'm more open to the idea. I may never get to girlfriend 1.0, but I'm in pre-alpha.
