One of the Most Pathetic Attempts in Romance History

Sometimes looking back at the failures in your love life can help you in the future. Usually it just hurts though.

I have never been a suave man. Man is hardly a description of me, let alone a suave one. I was not in anyway bad at talking to girls throughout my life, they’re just people after all. They live in the same world as everyone else, filled with all the stresses and problems that seem to just nag at you until they are too overwhelming to stop. We’re all human (or so I’ve been lead to believe). Even girls fall into that category to my great surprise. “Everybody poops” my Grandpa would say, as I would often help him wipe his ass.

In my young eyes, the girls that I were attracted to did not fall into that above category of human. Whenever someone of the opposite sex would pique my interest, my mind would immediately put her on a pedestal about twice as high as Trump’s wall. They could do no wrong and I was merely a mortal gifted an opportunity to look at her. Speaking to a girl I liked was like surgery, me barely coherent and one small slip-up away from dying of anxiety.

That’s a pretty normal problem to have in middle school, but a guy has to get over that at some point. I had thought I had gotten over it in high school, but no. One particular college experience made me realize how little progress I had made.

For a little background, I go to an extremely small school with around 3000 people. That translates to roughly 20ish students per class and everyone sitting in the same seats as the school decided to skip out on buying multiple tables. Also, the guy to girl ratio was heavily skewed towards guys, badly. Like extremely rare. We weren’t even an engineering school, the hell. So in addition to the pressures that come with approaches and whatnot, guys at my school had to deal with it being impossible to avoid others in a class unless you completely dropped the course (and sometimes that’s what you gotta do), while also realizing there were not a lot of fish in the sea. Also the sea is more like a pond. The pond is on fire too, but that’s a different story.

So this whole nonsense occurred in my public history class. I spent the first couple weeks in class like I spend most of my time; bored and oblivious. The only thing I could focus on was the girl sitting a table away from me.

I spent the entire class thinking,

“What would I even say to her?”

“Just say hi.”

“When has that ever worked ya dingis?”

At one point I even drafted what I would even say to her in my notebook in the margins. Let me point out that she was sitting about four feet from me, so I can only imagine how fucking insane I must have looked while filling every inch of blank space in my notebook with stuff about her. After class I would beat myself up about not even trying to talk to her before or after class. I would spend hours on /r/seduction and other sites trying to find the perfect phrase that would instantly display to her that I was the alpha and insanely confident about myself. Every time I failed to even make direct eye contact with her, I’d spend the rest of the day beating myself up. If there is one skill I have mastered, its beating myself up. My biggest and only bully in life has,is,and will continue to be myself.

The only reason I kept even attempting to speak to her was because there would be another class that I’d be able to try and fail in. This cycle went on until the very last day of the class.

I got a B in the class by the way. I have no idea how.

By this point my notebook was about 10% notes from the class and 90% the thoughts of a horny, insane asylum resident. I was exhausted from studying for finals and had reached the end of being able to say , “Just try again tomorrow”. This was an all-time low. She must of known somewhat what I was doing about it and trying to ignore it right? This creepy guy trying to look at her throughout class, but then simply scribbling some stupid pick-up lines about her in his notebook. Not really the best angle to come from.

When the final rolled around I was too exhausted to make an excuse for not talking to her. What was the point? I pussied out plenty before, does taking one more in the loss column really make much of a difference? Anyways after the final, our professor handed out some food for us and talk about the final. And of course, the girl has to hand the food off to me.

I could feel my entire body tighten, expecting something along the lines of “Choke on these you creepy fuck”. A perfect end to a horrible semester of absolute disgust of myself as a man. I looked her in the eyes, readying my defense on how I was just writing notes to ask out some other girl that definitely was not her. A flawless defense really.

Instead, she just smiled at me and started talking.

I don’t remember what she said, I can only recall the wave of tension leaving my body to find another victim. A half a year’s worries had built up to the point where I couldn’t focus on much else. Hell, at one point I had written “Cancer would be cured before you fix your manhood” in my notebook. We whispered for the rest of the discussion. She was hilarious and I’m glad I got to talk to her once. Did I mention I somehow got a B in that class?

I can’t say I asked her out or anything (well I could but then I’d be lying), but that moment showed me something about how I had been acting. Sorry there is no real grand payoff for this long story. There are only some lessons, like  old cartoons.

What I got was that I was beating myself way more than I should have. She had not been creeped out by me at all and talking with her wasn’t forced or something either of us had to do, we just did. Remember what I said at the  beginning about poop? Everybody does it. Everyone is their own worst critic about things others don’t even notice. It’s also a better idea to approach someone before you have too much time to psych-out yourself, or write in your notebook.

I also learned how much of a pussy I am.

Horrible end to the story I know, but it could have been way worse.


Author: Jonathan Ormsbee

Third-rate writer with a first-rate site. I like writing about whatever.

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