I make a conscious effort not to use the word ‘hate’ on a daily basis. At a young age, my grandma told me ‘hate’ is a strong word and to use it sparingly so as not to lessen the true meaning of the word. Females are notoriously guilty for normalizing harsh language and creating unnecessary clichés. Examples of brutally slaying the English language are below:
“I literally have nothing to wear tonight.”…Birthday suit, it is!
“I am going to kill myself if that iced coffee is not in my hand in like, three seconds.”…..My pre-preemptive condolences to your friends and family.
“Oh my god, I would give up my first born for her body.”…An even exchange, for sure.
**Please refer to Dane Cook, who further proves females posses this rare, delicate gene called exaggeration (you see what I did there?)
So grandma if you read this, which you won’t because you don’t own one of these confangled contraptions let alone know how to fully operate a microwave, please know that this statement is not an exaggeration or an attempt to lessen the meaning of the word:
I hate dating.
Some women think dating is fun, but is it totally unrealistic to ask for my Vitruvian Man? I’m no serial dater but here’s a summary of my dating history at a glance:
- Taken on a first date with a Groupon, “because it’s a new place!” and still ended up splitting the bill. – Frugality hits rock bottom.
- Concert that only once at the door discovered it was a 21+ and thus, we were turned away. – The only time I’ve ever/will ever wear neon eye shadow (semi irrelevant).
- Dinner followed by the Presidential debate at his apartment where his girlfriend showed up- Need I say more?
In the most recent chapter of the chronicles documenting my so-called dating life, a swoon-worthy Southern boy charmed the pants off me while I watched football with my girls at our Sunday bar. The man-boy called – an Earth shattering feat – a few days later to make plans. I was to meet up with him, his friend and his friends wife at a bar on Saturday for a couple of drinks.
Missing pieces of the puzzle:
1. He’ a UNC graduate
2. Saturday is college game day
3. Boys never grow up
Sober Sally here met up with a confidently inebriated group. Some laughing and awkward flirting ensued (needless to say I was sweating for zero reason in particular. It’s October for Christ’s sake). One bar and one wine bar later, were licking the last bottle of wine clean when my date takes an Adderall, chasing it with his last gulp of wine. I’m not Board certified, but that combo doesn’t exactly shout, “Hey everybody! Check out how fun I am!” No more than seven minutes later, I cap the night off by putting a delusional, sloppy man-boy mess into a cab home.
God, pretty please don’t make me question my love for Southern accent’s AND red wine.