Guilt is my friend

Fall 2003.

I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling. Boy this sucked. What part of me thought that moving in with three size zero girls was going to be fun? On any given night, someone was on a date. Or at a study group. (I didn't buy it. Everyone knows that "study group" is just another name for "I-want-to-ask-you-out-but-am-too-much-of-a-pansy-to-do-it-so-I'm-going-to-ask-you-to-study-with-me-instead.") Occasionally, there would be nights like tonight, where all three of them would be out at the same time. Leaving just me. Alone. To wallow in my sorrow.

I counted the dates I'd been on this semester. Zero. Wow, that didn't take long. Ok, there was the one, but he meant to ask my roommate out instead. Talk about humiliating. So I don't think that counts. In fact, that should be a negative date.

I told myself often that it didn't matter. After all, I was waiting for a missionary. I had been waiting for 6 months and it was beginning to feel like it was never going to end. Yes, in serious situations, I would tell people I wasn't really waiting. I would just take every day as it came and see how things fell into place. If someone else came along, well... I wasn't about to turn down anything with potential. But in moments like this, you bet I was waiting. Picture Saturday's Warrior. I was Julie. 100%. I was waiting like "mother waits for her bread to rise." It was easy to wait when you didn't have any other options.

I spent a lot of time feeling sorry for myself. I think most single girls do between the ages of 14 and 30. Which also means I was very self-centered. It was always MY problems. MY lack of dates. MY inability to make friends. MY burnt brownies. MY bad grade. Me. Me. Me. I must not have been very much fun to be around. Probably the reason for the lack of dates.

As long as I was going to NOT be dating or having a social life, I may as well explore the world. I wanted to study abroad. I decided to start small. So I registered for a semester in Nauvoo. I had paid my $50 deposit and was counting down the days until I could go and leave my self-pity behind me. Only 332 days to go.


The next night was Saturday. Luckily I was not alone tonight. One of my roommates miraculously had found herself with nothing planned. We were bored and bold (scary combination) and decided to go make friends. We walked the block and a half to the other apartments in our ward and started knocking on doors. The apartment we intended on visiting (a boys' apartment, of course) wasn't home. We started walking back, but my roommate remembered another apartment she sort of knew so we knocked on their door. An athletic-looking blonde opened the door. Slight recognition passed between him and my roommate.

"What are you guys doing?" my roommate asks.
"Just watching some football."
"Oh, that's cool. We were just bored and thought we'd see what was going on over here."

Another head appeared in the doorway. This guy was taller, with shorter hair and wearing a visor. He introduced himself as Jeff.

"Why aren't you girls on dates tonight?"
"We don't go out very much," I said. I probably should speak for myself.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Guys don't ever ask us out." Like I said, I was feeling bold that night. I wasn't below guilt tripping them into asking us out.
"Well, what are you doing next Friday night?"
Crap. "Um, actually, we're busy next Friday?"
"Oooooh. I see how it is. You never go on dates, right?"

What are the chances? We had spontaneously planned a girls-choice date for the next week. My first real date of the semester. Except that I had asked the guy. So it didn't count. Why didn't any of my dates count?

Maybe I can distract them...

"Well, what about Saturday?"
Jeff and blondie exchanged looks.
"Yeah, we can do something Saturday. Should we say sixish?"
"Six sounds great."
"Ok, see you then."
"K, bye."

And that is how I used guilt to get my husband to take me on our first date.