Today, I . . . wait for it because you aren’t going to believe it . . . actually socialized. With real people. Yes, that’s right: I left the house and did something with people. I went to a Christmas party with my fellow grad students and had one awesome time.
While I was there throwin’ back some cheap energy drinks (ok, one cheap energy drink, but with my caffeine (in)tolerance it might as well have been like guzzling a case of drinks), I found myself opening my mouth and saying words in the general direction of another person. And, as happens when people talk, they usually inquire about the other participant in the conversation. This other person was the wife of one of my classmates and she suddenly decided that she wanted to know about how I met my husband. Seriously. The nerve! Asking other people questions about themselves. Will rudeness never cease?
Ok, yes, I know that’s how people interact and that it’s perfectly normal and probably perfectly healthy. I’m being facetious. I think.
Still, in the interest of not killing the conversation, I simply said, “Oh, I met him in Latin class years ago as an undergrad.” And then the conversation meandered away down other avenues.
But the conversation started me thinking. You see, because the Melion is Melion, nothing is ever as easy as I will say it is. Ever. Yes, I met my husband in Latin class, but the actual story is, well, a bit more convoluted. How convoluted? Well, let’s just start with the preface that I’m an INTJ. While I don’t put too much stock into the personality types, I put in just enough stock to be considered a shareholder (see what I did there? See?).
The truth is, I highly doubt Myers-Briggs is destiny, but I can still see the truth in the indicators.
So when I say I met my husband in Latin class, what I really mean is:
Since I was never the type of girl (is there a type? Yes. That type = not me) who guys approached and asked on dates, it meant I had to do the approaching and asking.
So, Melion had to navigate the waters of asking guys on dates.
Now, as an INTJ, I like to plan. But never fear–I have back-up plans. And back-up plans to my back-up plans. Lists are my friends. Lists are my wingmen. Lists would find me a mate.
Step One: See possible mate. But is he really going to be right for me? I must find out. So, on to . . .
Step Two: Watch possible mate. Now now, I don’t mean stalk. Just . . . watch. Quietly. Figure out what possible mate likes, what interests him. Who are his friends? What do they seem like? Ok. Observations having taken place, I must find overlapping interests. With my husband and I, it was wolves and Latin. So, having determined we have a mutual interest, I proceed to . . .
Step Three: Get the attention of possible mate. Subtly. Staring across the room helps. If we are in class together, make sure that I answer every possible question the instructor asks . . . but only if I know for certain that I’ll answer correctly. Upon correct answer, furtively look at possible mate. Does he notice? He’s totally impressed that I knew about gerundival attraction. Heh heh, I’d like to attract his gerundives, if you know what I mean.
Step Four: Possible mate knows I exist and must be overwhelmed with my intellectual prowess. So, I can implement Step Four, which is find ways to meet possible mate outside of class. From Step Two, I have deduced where possible mate hangs out before class. Ta da! I appear there. Each day. Every day. But I cannot talk to him yet (we haven’t reached that step, that’s much further along in our relationship). I will demonstrate our shared interests.
Judging by the number of shirts with wolves on them that he’s worn, I know what’ll get him interested in me: reading a book on wolves! So, I buy a book about wolves (a good read by the way, very informative) and sit in the hallway not-too-obviously-but-obviously-enough reading said book. I do this every day for a couple of weeks. I have now read this book six times. Ok, on to . . .
Step Five, Part One: Move closer day by day to where he sits. Inching across the floor over the following days so that one day I appear within speaking distance to him. I have been concurrently implementing Step Three so that possible mate is well-aware of my brilliance and is totally desiring my brain. He just doesn’t know it yet.
Step Five, Part Two: This is the big moment: I speak to possible mate. Seeing that he’s wearing a wolf shirt, I say with utter confidence, “Hey, I like that wolf shirt. I’m reading a book on the biology of wolves. Isn’t that coincidental?” Possible mate laughs. He is so smitten by me that he sounds nervous. That is ok. I move slowly, he will become used to me.
Step Six: Do not speak to him again. Not because it makes me mysterious, but because I am pretty sure he knows I’m creepy. I have embarrassed myself with Step Five. Zounds! I moved to the talking phase too soon! I should have waited another several weeks. Ok, I can start back at Step Three and maybe salvage this.
Step Seven: Repeat Step Four with a different book. I must show that I’m not trying too hard. But the book must be interesting, because I need possible mate to know I’m interesting. Ok. I have a classic novel about a pirate. Pirates are awesome. And it’s a classic, so I look sophisticated. Which possible mate already knows that I am because I get every question in class right.
Step Eight: Wait for possible mate to look at me. Smile. Oh crap! I can’t smile. I’ve forgotten how! Oh crap crap crap crap. Ok. That’s fine. Default to INTJ death stare to let him know I’m not looking at him and expecting him to smile. That look should convey to him that I expect nothing from him, I’m just sitting in the hall reading a book. Ok, he’s looked away. Phew! Saved.
Step Nine: Make sure that– Oh, hey, another classmate is talking to me. Monty Python? Why, yes, Monty Python is hilarious. I’ve only seen some of their Flying Circus episodes, though. Get sidetracked by unrelated conversation and forget Step Nine.
Possible mate approaches. I barely notice because I’ve fixated on new topic of conversation: Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Possible mate seems as though he’s speaking. Hmm, he makes word-sounds. That’s nice, but I’m talking here.
Wait! Possible mate is having a conversation with me! Holy smokes! Do something, Melion! For the love of God and His angels, do something! This wasn’t on the list. What do I do? Oh God oh God.
Possible mate is saying something about how he has the entire Flying Circus on VHS (yeah, those once existed, let me get back to documenting my shame). I can smell my brain frying. It smells oddly like bacon. Mmm . . . bacon. No! Get it together! Focus! Implement The List!
Panic and skip to Step Twenty-Seven: Ask possible mate out. “You have all of the Flying Circus? Awesome. Tuesday is a school holiday and we don’t have class. I’m coming over to your apartment and we’re watching that show. What time works? Is 11 too early? I’ll be there at 11.”
Fast forward to Step 147 about three years later: Possible mate becomes actual mate. We now have a story to laugh about . . . and actual mate is relieved that I will never cheat on him because I am so inept, I would end up in prison.