Romance is dead

Romance is dead

I’ve been out for a beer with a dude. I’ve met a dude at a pub for dinner. I’ve been to a movie with a dude. I’ve never been asked to go on a “date”…

I just saw this ad on TV that had a guy turn up at a girl’s house with a bunch of flowers to pick her up for a date, and it occured to me that I have never actually had flowers given to me before a date. In fact, I have never BEEN on a date. Not a proper one. Not one that was actually called a date.

I’ve been out for a beer with a dude. I’ve met a dude at a pub for dinner. I’ve been to a movie with a dude. I’ve never been asked to go on a “date”, been picked up, greeted with flowers, driven to a restaurant that had reservations made (not by me), had an awkward silence, tried not to slurp my soup, been paranoid I would get green in my teeth, excused myself to go and powder my nose (ok, I’m not a nose powdering type of girl, but you know what I mean)…been driven home, been kissed on my doorstep and left to go to sleep wondering what may come.

Does that only happen to good girls and in movies? Is romance dead? Am I watching so much Sex and the City that I’ve started inner monologues that sound disturbingly like Sarah Jessica Parker’s?

I wonder, are boys getting lazy? Or are they too embarrassed to do this kind of thing? Or maybe (and this is the most likely) I just like/pick/attract/can’t get any other than the type of guy that just won’t do those things.

I guess it’s kind of unfair for me to expect gloss and romance when there are things I value more, in fact, when they are things I value very little. But really…just once or twice, y’know?

I recently had a conversation with a boy and I declared my love of being chased, particularly the part where I didn’t have his number, so it was up to him to call me. And then when he did, his phone was set to private… so even after the first phone call I couldn’t call or text him. It was incredible! Every time a number that I didn’t recognise appeared on my phone, I turned into a clumsy mess. It was so fun, and nerve-racking, and silly, and exciting, and just so…innocent. It was kinda the way you feel like romance should be. But I don’t know whether I think this is how romance should be because it felt so lovely and sweet and mushy, or whether it’s because all those dumbass movies with Tom f*cking Hanks conditioned me to think that way.

So I don’t know what my point is…I guess it’s…ummm…if you are a boy that I am likely to be attracted to and you would like to be the first one to bring me flowers and take me on a real date, then I promise not to think you are creepy for reading about me on the internet and asking me on a date, you big creepy tattooed red-haired not too skinny but not too muscly tall bearded artistic funny incredibly sarcastic musically inclined film appreciating beer swilling sport hating travel loving freakshow.

I feel bad for the poor bastard who ends up marrying me. My constant indecision and contraryism is going to institutionalise him.

P.S. Homework: read ‘On Seeing and Noticing’ by Alain de Botton.