When I was in college, I was totally in love with the cute, red-headed boy who lived in the dorm room above mine. He lived in a den of body odor (not to mention war-torn Lebanon) and for some odd reason, it never even bothered me. Me, Miss I-can-smell-a-fart-from 20-miles-away. Damn, HE WAS SMELLY! Like taxi cab driver in August with no A/C smelly. And I still let him kiss me, for like 3 months.
There are too many other stories I can’t relive here. So allow me to borrow some embarrassing stories from generous people near and dear to me.
For years, my friend, Harold, said he would only date very thin women who lived below 14th Street in Manhattan. Not soon after that statement, Harold was not only dating, but living with a fatty from 56th Street. She was such a bitch I don’t even feel bad about calling her a fatty.
My friend, Jeannie, was seriously dating a man who refused to make a weekend date. For 6 MONTHS. He was always going out of town “on business.” Um, okay. I think she broke up with him and then he asked her out again for a Wednesday night. And she accepted!
“Love is blindness,” or rather, infatuation makes you spineless. It’s not something we can help; it just is. We are. Nothing to be proud of. Just reality. And you may as well take advantage of it.
I’m not saying that you should go out and cheat on your boyfriend. Or go out and gain forty pounds. I’m just saying that if she likes you, you don’t need to sweat every little accessory choice, stray nose hair or occasional boil. Chances are, she’ll find it “cute.”
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