After a four-series super-serious posting and a loooong couch session [not that couch, though that one’s pretty cool too] I figured I need to lighten up some. So I found a nice soft seat and a nice blank well and decided I stare at it until I find my LCM. I need to know why all the boys I like don’t like me back. Or more to the point, why me darlin love, me sweet gizada, I goes for you like a fish goes for water…[it’s a reference to a really sweet poem, bear with me]. Why do I always like boys who just aren’t that into me?

After several hours of ruminating and bluminating and writing tables and drawing charts and working algorithms, I got my anwer. The answer is I don’t know. I fully, truly, haven’t the vaguest idea.

I found a few other answers though. According to some boy pals of mine if a boy likes you, they won’t flirt with you. So it is, generally speaking, a bad idea to ask out a boy that flirted with you. He was just kidding around, doing some target practise, and you stepping up the game signals Exit, Stage left.

[Somebody please tell me you know I nicked that off Snagglepuss. And come to think of it, Hannah Barbera nicked him off Henry Mancini. Or vice versa. Oh well.]

Oh, and boys don’t like to be asked out. If a boy likes you, they will come at you like a pal, then one day they will make their move. So the way I see it, my problem is twofold. One, I take flirts too seriously, so when I grab the bait, they run. And two, I blindside boys before they have crossed the just-buddies bridge to decide if they like me. And once they run, tehre’s no coming back. male pride and whatnot.

Hmm, that was easy. So now that I know the problem, I should be able to fix it. Should.

Back to what it is that draws me to these boys in the first place. I notice that I fall for just about every boy I get friendly with. It’s like a disease. Some kind of compulsive crushomania. My pal Kate thinks I’m in love with love, so I always have to be ‘in love’ with something, even if that something is a bar of chocolate.

So I sat down and drew up a list of all the boys I’ve liked. **Grin**. And I tried to find out what they have in common. **Double grin**. Discovered that I like three main things in boys. Four if you count the presence of a Y chromosome.

I like warmth. Nice, cozy, friendly types. Guys who don’t pull the ‘stranger’ treatment, but instead, they instantly handle you like they’ve known you all their lives. They’re all so welcoming, and make you feel like you belong. They express themselves, tell you what they think and feel – in plain English, not that nonsense doublespeak that guys like so much. Here is a boy who frequently says “I like this, I like that, I don’t like the other, and I think Ashton Kutcher’s Punked is a ridiculous show.” Trouble is, they do that with everyone they meet, so my fault here is in thinking the red carpet he’s spreading is for my heels only. **Insert annoying buzzer sound here**

Two, I like depth. The cold, dark, mysterious types that are just screaming ‘help me, solve me, fix me’. The Ben types from sunset Beach [No, I did not like that show, but even a passing glance would give you Pretty Ben!]. These ones usually draw me by never smiling, never speaking, and being lost in music, art, writing, or horror novels. Of course in the end, their depth is usually pure jerk appeal, but I can’ resist a boy who’s so absorbed in his instruments, books or  paintbrushes that he doesn’t see me hovering with a red sledgemallet and bow in my hand. Or maybe he’s just heard about my lousy aim?

The third draw is totally subconscious, and is something in my DNA. I like cool boys. I don’t mean the whole riding-on-a-harley-shades-and-leather type of cool. I mean the unmoved and unfrazzled. You know the type. They handle everything with a wave and a smile. They never get upset, never seem worked up. They make everything look easy, and are just so collected. They seem to have it together, like all the time!! It’s like they’re not even trying! I can’t resist this one.

The other draws are secondary – the great hair, green eyes, baby-fat-frame, intelligence, wit, honesty. I’m a pushover for flattery and charm; these are just trimmings. But it’s those first three things that get my suede jacket going.

Mission accomplished. Okay, so now I know the symptoms and the vector. Just have to find a solution to drown it in. Off to find a mosquito nets…

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117 thoughts on “Breaking the habit…

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