By Amanda Doughty, Staff Writer, Emerson College
Maybe this time, I’ll be lucky
Maybe this time he’ll stay
As I searched through the dusty half of my closet where the nicer clothes lay, I couldn’t help but sing along to the song playing in the background. I’d never had the such good luck with this sort of thing. In fact, I had no luck at all- to the point where it’d been two years since I’d done this last.
Maybe this time, for the first time
Love won’t hurry away
That would be a plot twist. Every other guy I’d been out with didn’t stick around very long. When they’d catch a whiff of my personality, they would head for the hills. I can’t say I blame them, but I was really tired of being alone. Therefore, I was determined to hold on to this one and was completely done being on a one-way track to becoming a crazy cat lady. This time, I had a plan; or, more specifically, I had lists.
List 1: Foods not to eat.
I’ve always been a messy eater. If it were still socially acceptable at my age to wear a bib, someone would probably make me wear one. Nobody likes a messy eater. Therefore, I made a list of foods to avoid eating.
Ugh, maybe I just won’t eat.
List 2: Things to avoid talking about.
What does that leave to talk about?
Suddenly, feeling a lot more doubtful, I decided to abandon the lists for a while and return to the closet. I had to make sure the outfit fit my me just right - It had to emphasize the stronger assets of my body while making some parts of me look better. I grabbed something that looked like it hadn’t seen daylight in a while. When I gave it a closer look, I could tell why it had been hidden for so long. I may have thought pink leopard print was cute when I was fifteen, but now I knew it was just plain tacky. Grimacing, I shoved it back into its hiding place, making a mental note to donate it to Goodwill.
Next to it was what seemed like a cute black dress. When I pulled it out, though, I realized there were giant sweat stains on the armpits. No.
I was starting to get a little worried, so I went down to the other end where I saw what seemed like the perfect skirt. I slipped it on and couldn’t help but notice how well it shaped my hips. But that was about all it shaped, for the skirt stopped not too much after passing my hips. I could practically hear my mother’s disapproval.
“You don’t want the boy to think you’re some hussy.”
I thought her point was valid. I put the skirt back and reached for the one next to it, which fell closer a little past my knees. It didn’t accentuate my curves as well, but at least it didn’t make me look like a baby prostitute. But did it make me look like a prude? I didn’t want him to think I would never have sex with him ever, I just wanted him to know I wouldn’t right away. Frustrated, I put that one away too.
Sitting on the floor of my closet in my underwear, I wondered exactly where the line was drawn with clothes. If you wear something form-fitting, you look easy. But if you wear something that doesn’t fit you right at all, you look like you don’t know how to dress yourself. And if you dress too conservatively, you look like a stuck-up prude. Is there anything right in the middle?
That’s what was going through my head when the doorbell rang.
I looked at my lists again in a panic, then remembered I wasn’t actually wearing any clothes. So basically, he was going to think I was a nudist hunger artist who didn’t know how to keep up a conversation.
Perfect.
Maybe this time, I’ll be lucky
Maybe this time he’ll stay
As I searched through the dusty half of my closet where the nicer clothes lay, I couldn’t help but sing along to the song playing in the background. I’d never had the such good luck with this sort of thing. In fact, I had no luck at all- to the point where it’d been two years since I’d done this last.
Maybe this time, for the first time
Love won’t hurry away
That would be a plot twist. Every other guy I’d been out with didn’t stick around very long. When they’d catch a whiff of my personality, they would head for the hills. I can’t say I blame them, but I was really tired of being alone. Therefore, I was determined to hold on to this one and was completely done being on a one-way track to becoming a crazy cat lady. This time, I had a plan; or, more specifically, I had lists.
List 1: Foods not to eat.
I’ve always been a messy eater. If it were still socially acceptable at my age to wear a bib, someone would probably make me wear one. Nobody likes a messy eater. Therefore, I made a list of foods to avoid eating.
- Spaghetti, or anything with sauce. If he takes me to an Italian restaurant, I’m getting a salad.
- But then again, salad is nothing without dressing, and dressing can get messy. So maybe no salad either. Hopefully he’ll take me to a Japanese restaurant so you I can just get sushi.
- But sushi has soy sauce, which I always seem to spill all over myself. Plus, sushi can fall apart, and I’m not so coordinated with chopsticks.
- No big meats. One, they’re really expensive. Two, they’re hard to cut. And you don’t want to take too big of bites, because that just makes you look like an animal.
- No burgers or sandwiches either. Things can fall out of both the sandwich and your mouth, and you can get ketchup/mustard/mayo on your face.
- And absolutely no dessert. Frosting can get all over your face so easily. Plus, you don’t want him to think you’re a fatty.
Ugh, maybe I just won’t eat.
List 2: Things to avoid talking about.
- The bathroom. You may be able to openly talk about your bowel movements with your friends, but you’ve known them forever. Curb it back.
- Your obsession with Disney. It’ll make you seem immature.
- Your family. You don’t want him to get intimidated by the fact that your family’s basically the mob. Same goes for your friends.
- Anything involving how you deserved a role over someone else in a play. You have to seem nice, and that’ll just make you look like a diva.
- Politics. Knowing your luck, you won’t agree with him.
- Religion, but that’s a given.
- Anything that will get you riled up, so nothing that gives you “feels.” It’ll make you look like a crazy person.
Suddenly, feeling a lot more doubtful, I decided to abandon the lists for a while and return to the closet. I had to make sure the outfit fit my me just right - It had to emphasize the stronger assets of my body while making some parts of me look better. I grabbed something that looked like it hadn’t seen daylight in a while. When I gave it a closer look, I could tell why it had been hidden for so long. I may have thought pink leopard print was cute when I was fifteen, but now I knew it was just plain tacky. Grimacing, I shoved it back into its hiding place, making a mental note to donate it to Goodwill.
Next to it was what seemed like a cute black dress. When I pulled it out, though, I realized there were giant sweat stains on the armpits. No.
I was starting to get a little worried, so I went down to the other end where I saw what seemed like the perfect skirt. I slipped it on and couldn’t help but notice how well it shaped my hips. But that was about all it shaped, for the skirt stopped not too much after passing my hips. I could practically hear my mother’s disapproval.
“You don’t want the boy to think you’re some hussy.”
I thought her point was valid. I put the skirt back and reached for the one next to it, which fell closer a little past my knees. It didn’t accentuate my curves as well, but at least it didn’t make me look like a baby prostitute. But did it make me look like a prude? I didn’t want him to think I would never have sex with him ever, I just wanted him to know I wouldn’t right away. Frustrated, I put that one away too.
Sitting on the floor of my closet in my underwear, I wondered exactly where the line was drawn with clothes. If you wear something form-fitting, you look easy. But if you wear something that doesn’t fit you right at all, you look like you don’t know how to dress yourself. And if you dress too conservatively, you look like a stuck-up prude. Is there anything right in the middle?
That’s what was going through my head when the doorbell rang.
I looked at my lists again in a panic, then remembered I wasn’t actually wearing any clothes. So basically, he was going to think I was a nudist hunger artist who didn’t know how to keep up a conversation.
Perfect.
Amanda is the biggest Disney nerd you'll ever meet in your entire life. She also likes food, and tap dancing, and writing...writing's pretty cool too.