The Dating Game

My freshman year of high school, my English teacher sat us all down and explained that at some point in our lives we would fall in love and want to get married. Not only would writing lead the way to superior love notes, he claimed, but it would also hopefully lead us to some introspective thoughts about our little fledgling lives. D, a teacher of only one name like Cher or Madonna, then told us that lasting love works on a scale for looks, intelligence and personality. A former life-long bachelor now recently married, he explained that eventually in life you should sit down in front of the mirror and give yourself a good objective look. (He suggested using the good ol' 1 to 10 scale for clarity and accuracy.) Pointing out unlikely couples such as Julia Robert and Lyle Lovett or Marilyn Monrie and Joe DiMaggio, D claimed their issues were caused by dating (or marrying as the case may be) people who are more than 2 scale degrees away from you in any of the before mentioned measurable attributes. Julia Roberts, a 9.5, with Lyle Lovett, a 2.0, were simply two far away from each other on the attractiveness scale to make it work in the long run.

As strange and convoluted as it may seem, I actually tend to agree with the 2 degrees of separation in attractiveness and intelligence in the pursuit of love. And, apparently websites like HotorNot.com (which I just had to check to see if it was still around) and RatingMyLooks.com agree at least in the realm of sex, though I do not agree in any way with their utterly objectified and public rating procedures. Trying to objectively gauge your own physicality is oh so much more different than pointing out flaws in others and voting for the best cleavage.

My dilemma of the day has come about with addition of a boy into my life who I think happens to vastly out rate me on the physical beauty scale. Perhaps I'm just being a deranged girl, but due to a past experiences with dating a (albeit shockingly bright) male model, I'm not exactly enthusiastic about dating someone who is much prettier than I am again. Talk about a feminism fail. In my defense, let's just say that sitting at a romantic dinner across from your date while the waitress asks him for his number is not exactly the most thrilling of experiences and makes even the most staunch feminist want to shiver in a corner of shame for a bit. The new Pretty Boy seems to be genuinely nice, though, so perhaps I'm just being a bitter and insecure bitch. (Yes, you say, we already knew this, dear Queen of Spades.)

Perhaps my real issue is that I can no longer look myself in the eye in the mirror and decide where I fall in the spectrum of beauty, intelligence, character, or anything else. Since the utter love life melt-down of 2009, I'm still working on recovering my sense of self, as wimpy as that may seem. Not knowing where I am in life tends to put a damper on on my expectations in a date. It also tends to make me break out in hives while on a first date for fear of judgment.

So, I'm going to take one for the team and go out with Pretty Boy. Perhaps I'll find out what I want or where I fit in in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps it will just be nice to gaze adoringly at my doe-eyed date while the bartender pours him free drinks and the hostess gives him (and by extension me) the best table in the place.

At least I'll have a story.

Queen of Spades