meganhannay.com

I read a piece this morning called “A Girl You Should Date.” It’s about readers. Girl readers. And why anyone would be over-the-moon lucky to land themselves a lady who prefers her books to her looks, who’d rather chat about American Gods than American Idol and who, at times, might even prefer E.E. to cummings of a different sort. Sometimes. Maybe.

I highly recommend this blog post to any girl with a more-than-moderate fascination with the written word. It will make you feel very good about yourself.  I’m not sure it will do much for people who want to date girls. If they’re the kind of lover who’s meant for a reader, I’m sure they already appreciate literary women. And if they’re not, it’s not going to convince them otherwise.

Even though the “Girl You Should Date” post was much more directed toward girl readers than toward the men and women who love them, it got me thinking about my own dating experience – what I’ve learned from my relationships about the guys you should and should not date. Failed relationships, I’m learning, are often relationships that either shouldn’t have started at all or that shouldn’t have continued past a fun-filled month or two.

So based on my own limited personal experience, I’m starting a new category of blog post. Let’s call it:

This episode is titled Someone a Girl Should Date.

- Date someone who clearly, clearly respects you. If you’re not sure whether or not they respect you, be wary.

- Date someone who makes you laugh. Every day.

- Date a someone who’s willing to learn how to adapt to you. No matter how similar you are, there will always be differences to overcome.

(Example: I’ve never met a man who was born knowing how to make a woman feel better when she’s down. I’m sure they’re out there, just like I’m sure there’s a straight guy out there who eschews both sports and video games. But most men, when faced with with the doom and gloom of a moody maiden, naturally go all deer-in-the-headlights. “Ahh! Ew! Girly emotions! Does not compute!” That’s okay, as long as he’s willing to take some advice.

When I say “I’m having a bad day because of [insert scenario here],” you say “I totally understand why you’d feel that way. It’ll be better tomorrow. Let me pour you a glass of wine.” Stuff like that. Learning.)

- Date someone who wants you, but who doesn’t need you. Needing is sweet in romance novels, but in real life, people should be able to stand on their own two feet.

- Date someone who doesn’t expect to be needed by you.

- Date someone who challenges you, in a kind and respectful way, to be a better version of yourself.

- Date someone who doesn’t threaten you with break-ups, for whatever reason.

- Date someone who’s patient with you. You have flaws; everyone does. Date someone who’s not afraid to kindly point them out, but who’s also understanding of your humanity.

- Read over this list again. Replace every “Date someone” with “Be someone,” and replace every “you” with “your partner.” Date someone you’re willing to be that person for.

- And do try to date someone who appreciates reading. Readers are magical people.

Sometimes a girl gets writer’s block. Okay, you’re all judging me now. Like dude it’s your second blog post – how do you have writer’s block already?

Well in this case it’s not actually writer’s block, because I have a list of 4 – 6 things that I could write about if I felt so inclined, but the thing is – I don’t feel at all inclined to write about any of them. And the thing about writing is, you have to feel it to write it. You just do. That’s why they tell us to “write what you know.”

So here’s the new rule: when Megan doesn’t feel like writing about anything else, she’s going to write about one of her crushes. Yes, crushes. Boys she’s “liked.” There have been quite a plethora of them, so I don’t believe I’ll run out anytime soon. And most of these boys have seen me completely embarrass myself, so I’m sure there’s a good anecdote associated with each one.

[Funny sidenote - I have had so many crushes, and I have such a good memory, that I actually used to use them as my computer passwords. This was back in college when they made us change our passwords once every 3 months. I can admit this now because I don't use boy names as my passwords anymore. But there was once upon a time when you could totally hack into my computer with a simple "Bryan" or "Garrett."]

Let’s travel back in time for a moment. It was a quieter time; a simpler time; “F.R.I.E.N.D.S” was still a new show and Clinton was in his first term. It was 1995. And I was eight.

And his name was Patrick.

Oh Patrick. With your bowl cut of blond hair and Irish-sounding last name. Even in the third grade, you had such a “boy-ness” about you, a masculinity. Something about your inattention to detail, and the way you colored outside the lines. It was beautiful.

I went to church with Patrick. I was homeschooled from the 2nd through the 5th grade, so I didn’t have countless boys to gush over at the elementary school playground. Instead I had the kids in my neighborhood (they were all girls) and the kids at church. It was a smaller church, so the only boys in my class (it was also mostly girls…wtf?) were Patrick and Milo. And Milo was a bit … slow.

So perhaps one could say that my first crush was chosen out of desperation? It’s as if some pre-pre-pre-hormone kicked in after 2920 days of life, and I was suddenly aware of the fact that boys were nice to be around for a reason I couldn’t quite explain. Or maybe it was those Babysitter’s Club books.

Maybe.

For a few weeks at least, Patrick was the highlight of my holy days.

One day, on the ride home from church, I told my parents about Patrick. It was that serious between him and me. My mom’s immediate reaction was something like “You’re too young to be liking boys.”

For my mother, simple declarative statements such as this were sure to cure me of all my wayward feelings. My dad, I think, thought it was “cute.”

If I’d known then what I know now, I might advise young Megan that boys don’t like being stared at and daydreamed about while the teacher is piling Noah and his animals onto the felt board. That boys of the eight-year-old variety are not yet all that into girls, and they probably won’t understand the deeper meaning of a young lady purposely sitting beside them.

Did we share crayons? It’s likely. Did I interpret it as meaning something greater than sharing crayons? It’s definite.

The end of my enamoredness with Patrick came one Sunday during a puppet show. Our entire 3rd grade Sunday School glass (ie – seven children) were crouched behind a black cloth curtain, holding up Bible characters we’d just crafted out of paper bags. We may have been small and few in number, but there wasn’t much room in the backstage. It was a 3′ x 6′ space … maybe.

So I can’t really tell you if it was on accident or on purpose that my arm accidentally grazed against Patrick’s. Maybe our puppets just wanted to say hello. Maybe I tripped. I honestly don’t remember. What I do remember, in Dolby surround sound full technicolor with extra HD thrown in, is Patrick turning towards me, looking up (oh yes, I was about 6 inches taller than him – was that an important detail?) and saying in a voice that I can only assume he acquired from a villain in Power Rangers:

“Don’t Touch Me!”

I may be forgiving to bad color-ers or bowl cuts, but eight-year-old Megan be damned if she let her man use that tone. My feelings for Patrick had faded by coffee hour, and I sipped my red Kool-aid and ate my store brand Oreos with satisfaction of a woman who’s conquered her first love.

An hour later, we gathered in the sanctuary, and I noticed another young man. Of course I’d seen him, but had I ever really seen him? Same bowl cut as Patrick. Similar stride and demeanor. Similar face. Similar … well, just about everything. Shawn was Patrick’s older brother. He was taller than me, and he was a sixth grader. A mature man, that was what I needed. Sixth graders knew their way around! Shawn and I had a future, I could see it. And I would daydream about it during the sermon.