On somewhat rare occasions, there are men that stick around after this unfortunate first encounter, perhaps because they attribute it to nerves, or maybe they think it is a fluke. Or occasionally I'll run into the sort of guy who is amused by that sort of shock value. Whatever their reasons, sometimes there are men that actually develop an interest in me. And why wouldn't they, what with my stunning good looks.
At this point, the wheat is separated even more from the chaff by my terrible habit of turning everything into a battle of wills. It could be something as simple as deciding where we go for dinner, but for some reason I will get an idea in my head, and there is no changing it ever, even if I am totally aware that I am completely wrong. It's a matter of pride, I suppose, although I'm not exactly sure what glory is to be had from winning an argument about whether or not Chris Evans is the most beautiful human being ever to grace the earth (which he is).
On the rare occasion that I don't get left on the side of the road after one too many of this pointless altercations, I sometimes maybe end up with a boyfriend. Most unfortunately, these tend to be the kind of men that are convinced that there is someone for everyone out there. When I say "I'm totally cool with dying alone," they say "There is someone (I assume they mean themselves) that will love you unconditionally, just you wait and see!" NO ONE loves another person totally unconditionally. And if they do, they're foolish. No offense to any of those men that might be reading this, by the way. You're all lovely lads and please don't key my car.
Now, every time a man says this to me, I almost want to laugh at them because I know without a shadow of a doubt that one day in the near or, if they are very determined, semi-distant future, I will do or say something or a collection of things that will so thoroughly put them off, they won't be able to hear my name for years to come without flying into a homicidal rage. Probably one of my more predominant worries these days, however, is that eventually there will come a lad who will, heaven forbid, have the cojones to defeat me in a battle of will, Petruchio-style.
I was never a great fan Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew... The ending was frankly depressing. In fact, when I was in junior high school, I played a part in that particular comedy (don't ask which) but even at that age I was certain that I never wanted to end up like poor Kate.
The horror...
