Aselin

I've been spending time with my nephews who are of the age that girls aren't yucky anymore. I feel for them, I really do.

Dating was hard. Especially as a girl. As a high school student I desperately wanted someone of the opposite sex to notice me and cycled through a huge list of crushes. My efforts to gain their favor were largely unsuccessful. I was missing all the curvy parts that normally attracted boys and my scintillating intellect landed me squarely in the “geek” pile. I just wanted to be liked for who I was: a skinny, late bloomer who carried around too many books.

My most used attraction tactic was the “Locker Stalker” technique. Loitering near the object of my affection’s locker for hours at a time, confident that it was a surefire plan. While he was twisting the digits on his padlock he would suddenly notice me, fall in love, and we’d get married.

I didn’t ever date anyone in my high school.

College was better for me. Seems the less you knew about me the more appealing I was. Interestingly enough, I was OK with that, it was working.

So, while enjoying this bonanza of attention I was spending a break with a friend. She had a date planned, and had set me up with her date’s friend. I’m not a fan of the blind date, but this was a double date, the guy was from out of town, so it really was just an evenings entertainment.

Imagine how flattered I was when her date called to quiz her on me. What I looked like, was I cute? Was I funny? On a scale of 1-10 how pretty was I? She had to promise I wasn’t dog meat. Somehow this whole endeavor had moved from a favor to more of a torture challenge. Listening to her on the phone, all my high school inadequacies flooded back in. And so did my ire.

As she hung up the phone I snarled that I wasn’t so sure I wanted to go anymore. It couldn’t be that fun with someone who was so insecure that he couldn’t enjoy a fun evening with his friends, and endure my presence.

This is where my brain went a little off the track.

When the doorbell finally rang, our plan sprang into action. As my friend welcomed our dates, I slowly descended the stairs in her home. The best way to describe what the horrified boys witnessed is, imagine 80's Madonna and Alice Cooper created a fashion line.

I was their top model. Ratted hair. Ripped black clothing. Black lipstick. Chains. It could not have been more hideous. Even Alice would have been scared. The moment the boys saw me made the whole thing worth it.

We sat in the front room to get more acquainted. Smacking my gum I recounted how my friend had helped me mainstream once I got out of my second round of rehab, that I was working as the hair sweeping girl in a SuperCuts and was saving money for my next piercing. Oh, it was just toooooooo fun.

I don’t remember how long we let it go on, but long enough the boy was going to need counseling after leaving.

Prepared to play this part all night, I realized that it had been much harder trying to be noticed for being average me. In this getup I was certainly noticed. Finally my friend had mercy on her date, since she had a conscience, and confessed our little ruse. I went upstairs, cleaned up and changed back into the mainstream me that was attracting lots of college attention. My date was beyond thrilled. After “Angry Aselin” anything was better.

But still, this dating thing never got easy. For me it was an awkward series of liking someone too much, too little, wishing caller ID would be invented, wishing I could drop out of school and just stare at someone, letting people down easy, being let down too hard, being asked out, being stood up - I don’t know why so many of us go through it. Especially because even though I played a mean, heartless trick on a hapless young man, he asked the questions everyone wants to know: What do they look like? Are they cute? Funny? On a scale of 1-10 how pretty? Dog meat?

The interesting thing is no one can really answer those questions for you. You’ve gotta be in the trenches, get your heart broken, break some hearts, learn what you like, learn what you love. Stand by a few lockers.

This is how I finally tricked my husband into marrying me.