@kmosher

They say you can’t win if you’re not playing the game. Thus, I’ve had my share of bad dates.

Truthfully though, I don’t go looking for love because more than one wise person has told me that you’ll meet the right person when you stop looking for them.

So I’ve stopped looking.

I’m am however a romantic at heart, something that I think I grabbed onto a a early age. So, in keeping my promise to share a personal story of luuuve, I’ve dug into the recesses of my memory for a gem from my childhood.

Enjoy.

Yeah, that was probably what I looked like.

For every girl, boy trouble starts at a very young age. Remember the opening credits to “He’s Just Not That Into You”? Every little girl has some version of that moment where some little boy is mean to her, but really, he’s mean because he liiiiiiikes her.

Mothers spread this type of propoganda all the time. My mom was most definitely in on the gig.

However, I didn’t cry, scream, or pout when boys brought on the worst – the hair pulling, the teasing, the mean words. I guess my competitive nature manifested early. I took every interaction as an opportunity to win.

“Win?”, you ask.

Why yes of course, “Win.” It’s what I liked most as a child, to “win” at whatever competitive opportunity presented itself. Competitive opportunities like chasing boys around the elementary school yard.

No one seemed to get in my way when I was in pursuit of some poor pathetic boy my age. I’d make a game out of circling the playground at rapid speed. I’ll run and run until I had a hold of a shirt collar or shirt sleeve, and BAM! I’d pounce. Yep, full on kiss from me to him as soon as I could pin him down. Why I felt so compelled, I’m really not sure.

I have brief but hilarious memories of targeting one particular boy in the early days of elementary school. I look back and I laugh – I really don’t know how I did it, the chasing that is. It’s strangely out of character – I was never all that outgoing throughout the remainder of elementary school.

However, the attraction to this one partcular boy started at the bequest of our collective parents before we even knew what the school ground was. We were in the same swimming lessons. Oh what a way to make an introduction! “My lane or yours?” (More like, “Oh, those floaties really make your two piece look good!”)

We were in the same swimming lessons in the late 1980’s when parents liked to ensure that their kids were competent enough to survive a tidal wave and ensured this with mandatory swimming lessons at the local YMCA. Nowadays I’m sure parents drop off their children and only return at the tail end of class to collect them. (Don’t they all just nip out to the nearest coffee shop for a quiet moment of solace? This is what the mommy blogs tell me they just. must. do.)

But back in the good ol’ days, parents looked at the this opportunity as a spectator sport with the entertainment being their own children’s struggles. Luckily, I didn’t look too bad (remember, competitive spirit manifested early), and I was a literal fish in water from the moment my mom dared put me in the backyard pool when I was merely 2 years old. (I guess I was just at the lesson to ensure I was doing the doggy paddle correctly? Perfectionism is now perfectly explainable. Blame my mom.)

Anyway, the aforementioned young lad was also signed up for the same swimming lesson as I was and I have foggy memories, clouded by a chlorine haze, of being told that we were “cute” together. It’s those silly things parents say and then are followed up by aunties and uncles pinching cheeks at holiday gatherings while they ask cutsie questions like, “Soooooooooo, do you have a boyfriend?” in a singsongy voice. This must be the causal link to my torrid playground behaviour.

Don’t ask 5 year olds if they have a “boyfriend/girlfriend”! It’s asking for trouble! I clearly took these questions seriously, so seriously that I competitively charged the poor kid on the playground each day at recess for at least a year! Poor fellas. They didn’t know what was coming.

Point being, my lack of relationship awareness started early. Really early.

For what it’s worth, this wasn’t the only boy who caught my attention in elementary school. While others were making nice at the craft table, I pulled an Anne Shirley on a boy in the 6th grade. If that doesn’t spell L-O-V-E, I don’t know what does.

I’m pretty sure that the hometown grapevine has confirmed that my former YMCA date has made something of himself by settling down with a wife and has taken over his father’s business.

I however, remain single and will continue to not look for love.