This will likely lower your opinion of me so give me a verbal slap in the face if I need one

I’m in dire need of female interpretive wisdom, here, so if you feel up to diving into the vagaries of my wayward mind, then I’d appreciate a little help in my own leap.

I’m trying to decide what to do about the girl who sent me the Valentine.

I’ve decided that I should try to find out what is going on (i.e., what she thinks is going on), so that I know how to handle it. I think I’ve gotten over my initial feeling of being creeped-out and am now intrigued to discover what might be possible.

Apparently, this girl has some problems (for instance, she’s a mumbler, has bad fashion sense, is not overly bright, and possibly slept with the dirty-old-man Con-Law professor). I’m getting too old and too tired to keep being the guy who’s last in line.

For crying out loud, I mean I’m 25-years old and I’ve never held a woman’s hand. With all likelihood a third of my life is gone, and perhaps more. I’ve never kissed a woman. And I don’t mean that just as an adult that I’ve never done these things. I never even had that childhood sweetheart where we secretly got married in our backyard one day in first grade and gave each other pecks on the cheek in secret. To say that I’m socially retarded is a gross understatement of reality.

I’ve had 3 girlfriends in my life. Two of them didn’t like me all that much (Katie, you can go to hell, and Sarah, you’re a frigid bitch). With Katie, I poured my heart into trying to kindle some spark between us in the six months that we dated. Every time that I was just about to give up, she would do something to fuel me on for another few weeks. Finally, I just gave up and walked away. Turns out, she just wanted to see how long I could keep going (some girls will do cruel things for a meal ticket).

Sarah and I dated for almost a year, but she dumped me when I protested how little she was willing to sacrifice for me. I’m sure I’m more demanding than I know, but is it so bad to suggest that, after 8 months of dating, she be present on my birthday instead of in Kansas City visiting her parakeet (the actual reason for her trip, not kidding). I like birds as much as the next guy (only I don’t kill them). But when she tells me explicitly that I rank below her parakeet in the scheme of her life, I know it just won’t work out.

Amy was the only girl who ever seemed to like me. Turns out she just needed a shoulder to cry on before moving on to a KU tennis player.

All my life, I’ve waited for Miss Perfect (my definition of Miss Perfect is not usually in line with society’s view). I’ve known a half-dozen women in my life who I would label as being among the illustrious group of women I would (or would have) willingly spent my life with, but the longer I’ve gone without getting her, the more I’ve had to realize that some guys end up with Miss Perfect but most guys don’t. Most of the women in that category have been married a long time ago, taken off the market by a steady relationship, or are simply not interested. And I can’t blame them, really. People don’t choose to whom they are attracted. People tend to be attracted to others with qualities that they find important, and some women are just in higher demand. They can afford to be choosy.

The same is true for men, of course. Some men are tall. Some men are handsome. Some men are athletic. Some men are rich and powerful. Some men are famous. Some men are funny. Some men are dark, brooding heroes. And some men are quiet and sensitive.

But can I afford to be choosy? Sure, Miss Perfect is out there, but choosing Miss Perfect isn’t the hard part; getting chosen by Miss Perfect is.

Well, here I have the possibility (not yet to plausibility, but certainly to possibility) that I’ve been chosen. At some point, do we all have to let go of our dreams in order to achieve momentary happiness? I’ve never met but one or two in ten thousand who could be the rock star or football player they always wanted to be. Most of them had to deliver pizzas, mop the floors, or get jobs recording video footage for tabloid news shows just to pay the rent. Is love the same way?

More than anything in the world, I don’t want to be alone. I was alone all through my childhood. I was alone in high school. I was alone in college. Through all of that, I only had my brother and a few shining individuals who kept me from despair. And then my brother left me for a job a thousand miles away. Even now, but for a few shining individuals who brighten my day, I am alone.

I hate coming home to my empty house. I hate watching television when there is nobody there to laugh with me. I want someone to hold my hand when I relive the dark times, and someone around whose shoulders I can rest my arm. I am afraid of being a bachelor and dying, old and alone in my room, with no one beside me to talk me into the darkness.

So she isn’t Miss Perfect. If there is a chance that I could achieve some small amount of happiness in the knowledge that someone out there enjoyed my company enough to want more of it, don’t I owe it to myself to kill the ideas of Miss Perfect in my mind and settle for what I can realistically achieve? Do I owe it to myself to find out whether I was chosen by a Miss Less-than-Perfect in an attempt to flee from facing only myself in the mirror for another day?

And if I say that I do owe it to myself to indulge in the possibility (still not a plausibility) of having been chosen, wouldn’t that be better than being alone?