
Grown-up dating is, well, complicated. It shouldn’t be, it doesn’t have to be, but it is because we make it that way. C’est la vie. I do it too so it’s not like I’m judging. It seems the more we learn, the more we are afraid of; we’re constantly trying to become better at the whole romance game, while simultaneously trying to prevent the mistakes of the past from repeating themselves. It’s a lot to think about, and the results are sometimes muddled.
Maybe what we ought to do it take it back a few years…a lot of years, actually, back to the days when you had nothing but your own confusingly new hormones and instincts to rely on when it came to social interactions. This is what I knew back in 3rd grade; looks like 9-year-old me had her s**t together about men way more than grown-up me does:
Hello, it’s the proximity rule in its simplest form! Even now, if a guy’s body language is always pointed towards you and he somehow always ends up near you at parties / work, he’s probably into you. He may not even know it, but his subconscious brain does.
The annoying (but okay, kinda cute) guy in the office who is always trying to one-up you? Unless he’s clearly a snarky, devious climber, he’s probably enacting his own weird brand of flirtation. Competition gets the endorphins going; it’s a tiny leap from competing to kissing.
My relationship with my 3rd grade boyfriend happened almost entirely on pieces of wide rule paper. Number 2 pencils were our instruments of flirtation. There is little in life that can compare to the excitement of seeing a folded up piece of paper with your name on it.
That was true then and it’s still true now…only now, it happens way less frequently. It’s funny how we spend so much time, as we grow up, trying to get the balls to actually talk to people we find attractive and to communicate our feelings through actual words and personal interactions. That’s great and all, there is nothing so innocently romantic as leaving the occasion love note for your sweetie.
…and don’t get too upset about it. Besides, it’s almost time for recess.
Sure, you want to gab to your friends when you finally get frisky with that hot guy from the gym but still, if you find out that he told everyone on the weight circuit about your steam room romp, you are well within your rights to be pissed.
Those rules were cut-and-dried in the elementary school days: if you kissed a boy, he was to shut up about it. But you were, of course, allowed to tell every single detail to your friends (who were also, by the way, supposed to shut up about it).