I have absolutely no idea. If a boy so much as looks at me the wrong way I’m gone. Done. Thinking about it for days.
I stand by what I drunkenly said while stuffing my face with fries at three in the morning last Saturday. Boys are terrible shits. Terrible. Shits.
But yet in the two months since they’ve been an actual part of my life, they have been my biggest source of stress. The worst part of my existence, kept around for free alcohol, validation, and an outlet for my sexual frustration. Girl’s gotta eat. But fuck.
Right now I’m sitting on my futon feeling sorry for myself and seething over my latest let down. It’s eleven o’clock on a Saturday night. I should be headed to the bars right now, getting buzzed on drinks from strangers and taking fireball shots with the bartender. I should be laughing and dancing and maybe doing another shot. I should be all dressed up and feeling the stares from around the room and maybe starting to sip on a margarita. But I’m slouched on my futon tapping away at my computer and trying to refrain from eating all my feelings.
I actually hate boys. They’re stupid and confusing and I don’t know what to make of them.
So a lot of this probably stems from the fact that I didn’t have my first kiss until college. Yes that’s right, college. Less than two months ago. So I’m not used to all these boys. I simply never had to factor them into my life before. And now I’m getting fucked over left and right and I’m trying not to expect anything from them but that makes it even worse.
If you have no expectations of boys, if you don’t expect them to kiss you without trying to put their hand down your pants, or to walk you home without asking to come up to your room, or to hold your hand as you walk down the street, you’re safe. When all of these things become rare moments of chivalry instead of the norm, that is when boys become just walking, talking, kissing wallets. They pay for your drinks and your late night pancakes and then you forget about them. They aren’t real people.
Except when they are. Except when they buy you coffee and talk about their families, or when they actually just want to cuddle even though you’re terrible at it. Except when they take you to their favorite place and just sit there with you, or when you hear that they’ve been talking about you to their friends. These are the times when boys become people, real people who have real feelings, and probably have feelings about you, right?
And when boys finally become real, when they exceed my non-existent expectation, that’s what kills me. Because when I met these boys, I don’t expect to feel anything. I expect a drink in my hand, a kiss in the corner, and that’s it. From what I’ve heard and read and been warned about college life, I don’t expect a text the next day. I don’t even expect them to ask for my number. I don’t expect to go on a real date. I don’t expect to really, genuinely smile. And when these boys do these things that go so far beyond what I’ve come to expect, that’s when I start to actually think about them outside the moment.
Boys, can I give you a piece of advice? If you don’t want to see me again, don’t take my number. Don’t text me the next day. Don’t talk to your friends about me and make plans to meet up with me and tell me how you can’t believe you’re kissing me. Just buy me a drink and we can make out and leave it at that. If you don’t want to be more than friends with me, don’t take me to the most romantic spot in the city and kiss me in the moonlight. Don’t tell me how much you care about me and how perfect my body is. Don’t make me breakfast in the morning. Just fucking be friends with me.
So if you’re actually looking for helpful tips on how not to get cut up about every boy ever, my ill advised advice is to have no expectations higher than a vodka tonic and a shot of tequila. And, boys, if all you want is one night, don’t pretend you want more.