I just noticed the most popular search on the Lijit search widget on my blog is “boyfriend.”
What the hell? Are you people desperately hoping I will get a boyfriend and start having sex, thereby easing my tension and making me less anal and bitchy?
I just did a search for “sex” on my blog and came up with a mere one blog post where Oprah wants people to talk about why they aren’t having sex. The other three hits are from – surprise! – JCW’s comments. Okay, maybe not so surprising from Mr. Tell It Like It Is.
Ooh, maybe the searcher is an old boyfriend who stumbled on my blog and is now wondering if I wrote about him. Which one could it be? There are not that many to choose from, truth be told.
Bobby: who thought I was a floozy for wanting to hold hands.
Brent: who slapped me across the face after I accidentally tweaked his nose when playfully flipping his ball cap off his head.
Ricky: but you already know about Ricky.
Eric: who had a bitchy, controlling sister and confessed he only asked me to go with him to make Mary Jo jealous. Our relationship lasted one whole afternoon.
I had many infatuations but no other official boyfriends in Jr. High, though I was deeply in love with a dangerous Hispanic boy named Danny. After slow dancing all night at a school dance, I said no when he asked me to go with him. When he asked me why, I couldn’t tell him. But it was because he previously dated Eric’s sister.
Rob: My first real boyfriend, though not of the sexual relations variety. I adored him. He was a swimmer and water polo player. Can you say “great body?” Yes, I think you can. Then he broke my heart. The bastard.
Mike: Never a boyfriend, but not for my lack of trying. I would throw myself at his feet to this day, though I expect his wife, dog, and two point five children would get in the way. In fact, he may have grandchildren by now. What a depressing thought.
Alex: Never a boyfriend, either, but he was a good kisser on the one and only date we ever had. He was better than a boyfriend, actually. We are still friends to this day.
Behold the barren landscape of my adult dating life:
Steve: I married him. Seven years later I divorced him, four years later than I should have.
Sparky: my Sex and the City boyfriend, whose best friend told my girlfriend he “just wasn’t that into me.”
Dave: who came back from a week at the beach to tell me he didn’t miss anybody but his dog while he was gone, not even me. He was a charmer, that one.
Joel: who was a good cook but the kind of person who would cut someone off in traffic then honk and flip them off out the window as he sped away. He was also the kind of person to be dating two women at once. Golly, I can pick ‘em, can’t I?
Geez, no wonder I don’t date. Y’all can stop searching for “boyfriend” now. Ain’t. Gonna. Happen.