|Spunk: Dating Consultant Extraordinaire|
My youngest offspring has become obsessively concerned with my love life of late, specifically my inability to secure a man. He asks repeatedly, “When are you going to get boyfriend, Mom?” About three months ago, in attempts to resolve this problem, he explained, “First, you go on the Internet and find a boy. Then you talk on the phone, and then he’s your boyfriend.” And here I thought it was more complicated than that.
The truth is, I can use all the help I can get, even if it’s from a six-year old. The very few dates I’ve been on have been awkward and, quite frankly, a little nauseating. If I could walk into a date scenario with an earbud and backup that included my own personal Cyrano de Bergerac in a spy van, I might do okay. Unfortunately, Shauna au naturel, isn’t quite as hypnotic and charming as I come off in my blog. See, you’re laughing; you can now sympathize with Spunk’s concerns.
Maybe you don’t remember that I was the one who, giddy over meeting the most eligible bachelor/pediatrician in Idaho Falls (who is now happy married, by the way), actually showed him the eczema on my forearms in attempts to start a lively conversation during an appointment over a rash Spunk was sporting. On another occasion, I was asked by a date if I participated in any sports. I wooed him by responding, “Do women my age play organized sports?” And when a guy I like leaned in to kiss me once, I experienced a tic of colossal proportions and gave him the cheek. It’s amazing I’m still single.
I’ve had a little help in the past. My BFF has launched me into many chat sessions on dating sites that I wouldn’t have participated in otherwise. Once, I let her take over while I colored my hair. She carried on the conversation in her computer room while I rinsed with the shower attachment in her bathroom across the hall.
“What’s your favorite color?” she yelled. “Red,” I responded. Before we both knew it, our chat partner was role playing, placing me in a kinky job interview wearing a strappy red dress and heals.
My BFF yelled, “He wants to know what you do after stepping over a strong air vent that blows your dress up.”
“Abort, abort!” I yelled before going on a very long chat hiatus.
My BFF is far too enthusiastic in her attempts to help me find a man. And when her ploys don’t work, she just shrugs and says, “Bummer. Better luck next time.” And then, “I’m going to go home and have sex with my husband now.”
Considering that he may have more in common with men than I do, maybe I should follow Spunk’s dating advice instead. Perhaps “who’s your favorite superhero?” is a better conversation starter than “what are your hobbies?” Or I could always open with, “Wouldn’t it be funnier if our bellybuttons were on our faces?” Philosophical and thought-provoking.
I’ll keep you posted.