And then, of course, I went ahead and did it. I broke the cardinal rule: I made myself too available.
Upon arriving back to my room, my computer stared at me. Beckoned to me. Seduced me, even. Send a cute email! It said. Just one quick instant message. I considered my options. One little Facebook message never hurt anyone, right?
Wrong. After nearly a semester of scheming and schmoozing, I demolished all my good work in a few quick keystrokes. “Had a great time tonight—can’t wait for next time. I’m free Mon 3-5, Thurs 11-2:45 and Fri after 7:30. Email me or message me back—oh, and my number is (555) 555-0999 in case I didn’t give it to you. See you soon, I hope! –Matt.”
Reviewing it a week later, I was beginning to see why I hadn’t heard back.
It had happened before, but I still didn’t quite get it. My iTunes playlists consist of eclectic mixes that would impress even the most pretentious music aficionados. I shower twice a day and sport alluring designer fragrances. I surround myself with only the most intelligent, interesting and outrageous people within a 100-mile radius and have a self-deprecating sense of humor that wins over even the toughest parents. How could one message transform my image from chic to creep in no time flat? Like anyone lost in the game of love, I took a cue from the source of all things realistic: the movies. How does Bond get the girl? What drew Cleopatra to Anthony? And just where, exactly, is the line drawn between sending a Facebook message and throwing pebbles at your Juliet’s window?
It’s all in the chase. In the cat and mouse world of dating, a high-speed pursuit is half the fun. And if you forfeit the thrill of the hunt before everybody has even had the chance to warm up their engines, you are begging to be left in the dust for something shinier, sportier and lower-maintenance.
Everyday, hundreds, even thousands of smitten college-aged men and women sabotage their chances in love by forgetting two very clichéd but tried and true axioms of courtship: one, that dating is little more than a game, and two, that forbidden fruit always tastes sweeter. So you had better be ready to play hard to get. What constitutes a premature surrender, you ask? Let’s just say that there is no quicker route to permanent singledom than the road lined with play-by-play texts, unwarranted just-called-to-say-hi phone calls and copious online stalking.
That’s right. Indefinite availability often leads to dateless Saturday nights. That is exactly why I believe that those who wear their hearts on their sleeves will eternally get their asses kicked by Cupid.
I have a friend who is a beautiful, smart, accomplished girl, but your typical hopeless romantic who falls head over heels at the drop of a hat.
Just a few weeks ago, she started seeing someone new. Ignoring my cautionary tale, she coordinated their study and leisure time and personally delivered a batch of freshly-baked cookies to her crush’s door.
And like the rest of us who serve our hearts on a silver platter, she learned her lesson the hard way.
When he asked her to dinner the following week, she got dressed up, sure that this would be the night they’d make things official. You can imagine her surprise when he instead suggested that they should just be friends and said that she would “make somebody a great housewife someday.” Not exactly worth the price of a new dress, even if it was on sale.
Take it from me: unless you want your next dinner date to say, “It’s not you, it’s me,” over salad—refrain from moving too fast. And I’m not just talking about sexually. I mean doing the lovesick, I-have-to-have-you, ego-inflating routine.
I know it’s hard to keep your cool during those first few courses—but imagine how sweet the dessert will be.
