Dear Neighbors:
I want to be upfront about the fact that I have done many stupid things in my pursuit of Mr. Right. As women, we're always taught that if men aren't flocking our way, it's because we're doing something wrong. I've been told that I needed to wear my hair straight, wear my hair curly, grow my hair longer or cut it shorter. I've been advised to go blonde, become a redhead and wear more makeup. What I haven't been told is that I shouldn't make drastic changes in order to please someone else, I should do them because they make me feel better about myself.
Needless to say, I had a blonde phase. It wasn't the most flattering look for me, but it was fun. I didn't have to work very hard at anything while I was blonde. Men opened doors for me, bought me drinks, and let me cut ahead in line. Unfortunately, this special treatment usually only lasted until I opened my mouth, because the one thing blondemongers didn't expect was that I would be intelligent and well-spoken (I'm a grammar geek). I had plenty of first dates during this time, but few second dates. Like a good student of reason and logic, I changed my strategy.
I played stupid.
His name was Brian. He was a police officer, about five years younger than me, tall and handsome. We were chatting online and it was clear that he thought a great deal about his command of important subjects such as current events, politics and ethics. At the time, I was working for the Postal Service and going to school full-time. Because I lived in Pomona at the time, Brian took that to mean that I was going to a local community college (I was getting a Business degree at Cal Poly Pomona) and I was more of a laborer than a thinker.
What the hell? I let him believe it.
Turns out that it's much easier to pretend to be stupid on the phone than it is in person. It started out smoothly, and it gave me false confidence that I could pull off Operation: Stupid. We met at a sports bar and he very courteously pulled my chair out for me and insisted that I order first. About twenty minutes into our date, I realized that he was...uh...speaking slowly. At first, I thought he might be trying to make himself clear over the noise. And then he asked if I was familiar with the book Who Moved My Cheese...he did so doubtfully. I cocked my head to one side and said, "I think so...," also doubtfully. This is where things became difficult.
He began talking about the management theories and workplace ethics and I found myself forgetting that I was supposed to be stupid and opinion-less. When his eyes grew wide, I caught myself, giggled, and said, "But I don't know, really." It was kind of fun.
Note to self: if this teaching thing doesn't work out, look into con artistry.
By the time we left and reached the parking lot, Brian was still pontificating and I was still gazing adoringly with my blank stare. It was at that point when he asked me about school (real gem of a guy, I don't think he asked me a single question about myself all night) and "Cal Poly Pomona" and "Business" and "Marketing" and "I'm fascinated by market research" and "but this is just a backup until I'm ready for teaching" rolled off my tongue that I did the only thing I could to shut myself up.
I kissed him. Really good kisser. Really good.
In order to make things easier on me, I suggested a movie for the second date. I stopped returning his calls after that because I just ran out of stupid things to say.
While Operation:Stupid was fun, it wasn't exactly a success.
D
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