I love a date. Not just the good ones, but the bad ones too. Especially the bad ones. And don’t lie, you do as well. OK, maybe you’re married or in a long-term serious committed perfect relationship and you have some super cute story about how you met and blah blah, but for me, I’m single, and the best stories I have are the ones where things crashed and burned pretty immediately.
So I consider myself at square one of the relationship story. Which isn’t a bad thing. I mean, my ambivalence towards even having a desire for a relationship is pretty darn high. Not quite at a will-do-everything-to-avoid-the-concept high (aka last year), but still pretty darn high. Since I’m currently here, in the land of purgatory between hope and despair, I’m going to make a pretty bold statement.
I’ve decided I’m going to date Taylor Swift.
I know that sounds like a long shot, but since my optimism tells me that I’ll find some sort of whimsical perfect movie love while my pessimism tells me that most people aren’t worth dating at all, this is basically the only natural combination of the two I can think of.
OK, I know you’re sitting there, thinking, “But how are you going to even meet, let alone have any chance of seducing, Taylor Swift?” Well, maybe that’s your second question after “How did I end up at this site at 3 AM?” Which is reasonable. I’m wondering that too. Let me instead disregard that first question and instead post a video of how PHATCAT makes applesauce for her brother. Yum!
Or maybe you were thinking, “Why Taylor Swift?” To be honest, I don’t really know much about her. Actually, come to think of it, I don’t even know if she’s dated anyone after Tom Hiddleston. I could Google it, but I’m not really bothered.
I think her music is pretty OK. It’s catchy and not terribly exciting, much like a fishing net. (I guess that’s where I lose the interest of all of my fishing enthusiasts, hosiery experts, and most importantly Taylor Swift fans who are probably the only people who had a remote chance of stumbling upon this blog.) Yet for some reason, despite my musical qualms, I find myself dancing along every time one of her songs comes on the radio, like a fish pulled out of the water by a fishing net, if you count convulsing is a type of dancing, which you’d have to in order to count my dancing as dancing. (I guess I’ve also lost PETA fans?)
Now that nobody’s still reading along, I should make it clear that I understand that Taylor Swift and I probably won’t be together for a few years. So from now until then, I’ll have to be making my way up the ladder, which means going on more dates and making more mistakes on the way to the top. So here I start, at the bottom rung, going on some of the prime worst dates of my life. Wish me luck!