I really must apologize to any one of my friends or family
members who may not already know about my current relationship, but it's about
time we made this thing public. Of course by "we" I mean
"me" because I am dating myself. I've been on-and-off for over
22 years now. I finally made a sort of commitment about three years ago,
when I took myself on my very first real date. I'll admit I was not my
first choice, but when nobody else accepted my invitation to the movies, I
settled for me. I was a bit nervous about what people might think when
they saw me with myself, but I ending up being quite proud to stroll into a theater
full of middle-aged men with me on my arm. I saw "Captain America:
The First Avenger" and had a really good time.
After the movie, I couldn't stop raving about how
much I loved it. I opened up quite a bit and told myself all about my
fascination with WWII history and American culture of the 1940's. I even
went so far as to tell me that I am hopelessly, indescribably patriotic.
Surprisingly, I was not turned off by my passionate soliloquy about Jazz
and super heroes. In fact, I surprised myself by stopping at Walmart on
the way home to buy a Captain America poster for my bedroom wall. I held
my hand for the first time in the juice aisle.
Small things like that are what keep my relationship so strong.
I'd be lying if I said it hasn't been a rocky road. I've had a few crushes that really jeopardized the stability of my relationship. I even broke up with myself once or twice to try dating other people, but it never worked out. I’m just glad I was able to take myself back after what must have seemed like ultimate betrayal. Me and myself have been exclusive for quite a while now, and my relationship is stronger than ever.
When “Captain America: The Winter Soldier” came to theaters
a few weeks ago, I decided it would be the perfect thing to celebrate my first
real anniversary since getting back together.
I planned it all in secret, buying the movie tickets the morning of
opening day and canceling all of my evening plans. I then spent the morning getting all spiffed
up; I wanted to look nice. Feeling great
in my newest pair of overalls, I picked myself up from work, which was a real
surprise.
When I came out of work and saw my car sitting there
waiting, it was all I could do to keep from breaking out my disco ball and channeling my inner Kevin Bacon into a dance of excitement. It had
been a while since I went on a real date.
I had been spending a lot of time in the library and calling it a date,
but I knew it was a poor excuse. I
needed to get out and do something fun.
It was like I read my mind.
I took myself to the Wendy’s drive-through. I know it sounds cheap, but I have a real
history with myself at Wendy’s. The
first few times I really opened up to myself were
over Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers, and some of my biggest arguments with myself
were smoothed over with a famous relationship-mending chocolate Frosty. This time, however, was all celebration. I was not holding back and I wanted to let
myself know. I told myself I could order
anything I wanted, even if it wasn't from the dollar menu. I don’t like to spoil myself, but I think
splurging occasionally is an important way of letting me know that I really am
committed to the relationship. I smiled
at myself and ordered one of the fancy chicken sandwiches that Wendy’s is
almost kind of known for.
I don’t know if you could call me superstitious, but I’ll
admit that I believe in many things that most people don’t. Sasquatch, for example, is something I’m
convinced is completely real. I think I
saw one coming out of a Yellowstone bathroom once. If I’m not mistaken, this was the subject of
my first real argument with myself that led to sharing my first chocolate Frosty. Maybe it’s because I’m too imaginative, but I
totally believe in almost all things supernatural. Maybe it’s because I watch a lot of
the television show “Supernatural.” At
any rate, it was for this reason I got really nervous when I pulled up to the
drive-through window and the cashier repeated my total, “$6.66.”
I thought about canceling the date and taking myself home. It sounds silly now, but at the time I
thought for sure this was a bad omen, and on my anniversary! My mind was racing with thoughts of
everything that could go wrong. How
could I enjoy “Captain America” if my chicken sandwich was somehow infected
with a rare disease from the Amazon that rendered me incapable of seeing the
color blue? What if the Sasquatch was
angry with me for ratting on him about the Yellowstone bathroom and he showed up
at the theater intending to take me prisoner?
My head was spinning with fear and the Wendy’s cashier was getting ready
to call for backup when I thought of a plan. I handed her $6.67 and drove away, happily
singing along to my favorite song that just happened to come on the radio. The date was going to be okay.
I took the meal back to my apartment, where I could eat it
in intimate privacy: my roommates were
gone for the night and I knew I could be alone.
I thought about turning on some mood music, but the moment passed when I
surprised myself with a gift. It was
totally unexpected, and I felt a little guilty for not thinking to get myself a
gift in return. Regardless, I hastily
opened the package. Again, it was like I
read my mind. Inside was the cutest new
swimsuit I had ever seen. It was like I
somehow knew that my old swimsuit was starting to wear out. I’m just always on the same page as myself,
which is how I know this relationship is more than just a fling. It was the perfect
surprise.
I thanked myself and we departed for the movie theater. I remembered how seeing the first Captain America movie had been a
major boost in my confidence about the relationship. I had seen the first showing of the morning
on opening day in a theater in a small suburban town. The theater at that time was filled with
nothing but middle-aged, overweight men that may or may not have quit their
jobs to see the movie and most definitely smelled like cheap burritos. I couldn't help being super proud of the fact
that I was the only female there, not to mention my hot date.
The experience of the Captain America sequel was a bit of a different story. I saw it in the evening
on opening day in a college town. The
theater was filled with small groups of freshman girls gawking at Captain
America’s perfectly styled hair and young, good-looking couples who were
obviously on first dates. I’ll admit I
felt a little bit intimidated by the freshness of all the relationships
compared to my long-lasting one. I had
grown increasingly afraid over the previous few weeks that what I
had with myself was growing stale. Just
as I took my seat, however, I realized that the stand-alone group of attractive
young men was staring at me with jealousy in their eyes. They were jealous that I was on a date with
myself, and I knew it. I instantly felt
confident in the relationship once again.
My date was a hot commodity.
Throughout the movie, I kept making attempts to hold my
hand before chickening out. It shouldn't
have been hard, seeing as I had held my hand several times before, but something
about the pressure of an anniversary made it difficult. I was relieved when I was the one who took the initiative to hold my hand instead. I
enjoyed the movie through and through.
It couldn't have been a more perfect date.
Since
then, I've been getting a lot of questions from friends and family as to
whether I think this relationship is the real deal. I can’t say for sure yet, because I've
decided to take things slow. I can’t
help but worry, however, that staying in a relationship with myself forever
would ultimately make me unhappy. I’ve
forced myself to think through all the possible outcomes. Not including the ones where the Sasquatch
kills me or I go missing after hunting for the perfect chicken nugget, there
are three scenarios I think are the most likely.
The first
scenario is that I stay with myself and it works out really well. I go on to be the writer/producer of a
successful television sitcom. I’m super supportive of my career. I don’t have any children, but I become good
friends with the old Greek lady across the street that collects pictures of
Sandra Bullock and clocks that tick backwards.
Eventually I move from television to film and fulfill my lifelong dream
of being an editor for the next Steven Spielberg. I grow old gracefully, and when I leave the
film business I become a ranger at Glacier National Park, where I specialize in
telling people to stay on the designated trails.
The second
scenario is a bit grimmer. In this
situation, I stay with myself, but things get stale quickly and I become
unhappy. I move into my grandparent's basement. I live there long after
they've sold their house to the successful lawyer/model and his blonde athlete
wife. I bang my broom on the ceiling
when their three beautiful children are laughing too cheerfully. I get hideously old and lose my sense of
humor. I start buying wombats and
naming them all Harold. Eventually, I
wind up on the TV show “Hoarders” because I still have every sock I've ever
worn. I die old and alone. Only Harold(s) come to my funeral.
In the
third scenario, I don’t stay with myself at all. Some foreign scientist who shares my love for
Otter Pops will sweep me off my feet, and we will get married in London after a
good solid year of dating. I’ll stay at
home taking care of our children, who are better-looking than the
lawyer/model’s and I’ll invent apps in my spare time. My husband will find a way to put the cure
for cancer into a taco and the world will be a better place.
I can’t
know for sure what will happen, but I’m happy with where I’m at right now. I don’t know whether I'll stay with myself
forever or not, but I think it’s important that I’m taking the time to get to
know and love myself. It could really
benefit Harold(s) someday.
Also, my husband will look like be Tom Hiddleston.
