Finding a date, when you want one, is like trying to find that black crop top you love in your disaster area of a closest! It seems impossible. Today's guest post, from Isabel Chalmers, tells the story of what happened when she got 2 concert tickets as a Christmas gift and has to find a last minute date. Enjoy!
This story starts at my parent’s house on Christmas morning.
My parents pass me an envelope. I open it expecting a sappy Christmas card about how I’ve grown to be a wonderful women, yada yada yada- I’m hoping there’s money in it. But there isn’t; I scream and jump up like I’m fifteen again, “I got a Kings of Leon ticket?!”
But that happiness didn’t last for long, the literal worst thing possible happened.
Something so horrible I get goose bumps simply reminiscing on the time. My dad said “there should be two in there…it would make for a great date” WHAT! There were two? Is this some sort of sick joke? What did they expect from me! They know me better than anyone, or so I thought. Did they really think I had men, sorry ‘a man’, to ask to this concert? Okay they don’t know me at all. And it wasn’t the orange snuggie or hockey stick they got me that make me come to this conclusion.
It was difficult enough for me to get a guy to go to the movies with me, I could barely convince a guy to grab a coffee with me.
But to get a guy to come to a concert with me?!
Who did they think I was!?
I was never one to shy away from a challenge, so I smiled played dumb and responded with, “wow that’s great now I can bring a friend.” “Yeah” they said in what it was seemed like planned unison, “a special friend.” YACK.
On the way home I made my first stride. I’d been seeing this guy who well call ‘Johny’ for a while, so it seemed only right to try him first. I illegally texted him while driving saying, “you’ll never believe it I just got two Kings of Leon concert tickets for Christmas! Don’t you love them? Why don’t you join me?;)” Yes people, I’m sorry to tell you I DID in fact put a winky face and I’ll forever blame that for the response I got which was, “sorry uh no I don’t like Kings of Leon enough to go.” WELL THANKS JOHNNY. I realize now Johny really doesn’t like me as much as I thought. He basically could have said, “sorry uh no I don’t like YOU enough to go,” and it would have been more honest.
“That’s okay,” I told myself, “don’t loose steam.” It was only my first attempt.
Next thing that popped into my head as an option was my best guy friend, Alex. I could convince my parents of some adorable story that we may like each other more than friends and that this concert was our ‘test’. They’d eat that up. They really would, they’d feel like mini matchmakers. But then I’d have to break the news that we decided it would be best to stay friends, and they’d think it was the concert and then they wouldn’t feel like matchmakers at all; they’d feel like they ruined a friendship. No this is never going to work. UGH.
Okay, now its gotten to the point where I’m making not just mental but ACTUAL lists of men in my life. Surprisingly the list isn’t too short. “I can do this,” I think. At times like these my confidence was on star power.
I looked through the list. I slowly realize some of the problems I face. I think maybe Mark could work, but he did just get a girlfriend, so that may be weird. I cross Mark’s name off the list. And Jack? Well I haven’t talked to him in a year or so but I could try. I call him, he’s clearly changed his number because some women answers asking who I am, so not only have I just lost a prospect for this date but also a friend. BUMMER.
Then I see it Kirk. It’s too perfect. Why didn’t I ask him first? Kirk lives a couple houses down the street from me so I decide to improve my chances by getting all dressed up and going to ask in person. This is, what I thought was, a full proof fan. He’s always liked me; it was me who wasn’t ever too fond of him because you know, somehow I’m incapable of liking people who like me back. So I put on something red, something short, and I shake my hair and I make the two-minute walk to his place. I knock on the door and hope he answers, but he doesn’t. It’s his cute roommate Jo. I ask Jo how he is and we engage in really awkward small talk. At this point he hasn’t invited me in and the wind is blowing and I’m really regretting my choice of outfit. And then when there is a lull in conversation I say, “is Kirk here?” He looks super confused and responds with, “uh Kirk went to Australia like a month ago for a year,” and then as if I didn’t feel stupid enough he continues with, “how did you not know?” I don’t even remember what I responded with. I think I blacked out for a while and eventually I woke up at home in my bed hugging my fish shaped body pillow. “What!” I thought, “Am I that bad of a person that I didn’t know the one guy who liked me went half way across the world for a whole entire year?” Yes, I am.
At this point I’ve exhausted all my options. I spend the next couple hours writing horrible poetry and simultaneously crying and complaining about my hunger. I order in Chinese.
The concert is in a week, no one is going to go with me; this is a fact I just now have accepted. I’m going to have to go alone or invite a girl friend and face the embarrassment from my parents when they ask why I wasn’t able to find ONE LIVING MAN to join me.
I may as well not go I could pretend I’m sick. I could say, “oh gosh I’m sorry dad, you and mom go tonight, I ate something bad and there’s no way I can make it out tonight even for Kings of Leon.”
But I don’t.
I get up that morning of the concert and I feel good. Who knows why but my inner ego “Isabella” came out and I’m having a great hair day and I’m singing Pink and Shania in the shower. I don’t even care that I’m about to go to a concert alone.
I get there, looking and feeling like a ten. And I sit and I listen to each song and I cry when “Back Down South “ comes on. I don’t look at my phone once for the entire concert because I’m having that much fun, and yes an hour or so concert isn’t that long of a time not to check your phone but for a phone-oholic this is REAL.
And before I know the concert is over and I’m sad and proud and so hyped. I did it. I quickly take out my phone to send my parents a selfie of me at the venue ALONE. Who cares what they think? I take a picture and a caption reading, “riding solo.” SENT.
But then I look at my screen to see quite a few texts I would never have expected. One’s from Johnny. It reads, “hey if you’re free this Friday my cousin is having a party, we could grab dinner and then head over? Let me know.” “Wait, what?,” I think. Is this the same Johnny who didn’t like me enough to come tonight? Confusion takes over.
Then I see Kirk’s name, it reads, “hey Isabel, can’t text much because it costs a lot from Australia to Canada, but here’s my email. Heard form Jo you came by the house. Let’s keep in touch.” Okay so Kirk clearly still loves me- knew it. Confidence boost.
Then I see Alex’s name, I expect to hear from him. It says, “hope you had a great night riding solo.” Yep, this is the same thing I captioned my selfie with, reinforcing the reason we’re best friends.
Then my parent’s answer with a, “good for you!” “What?,” I think. Good for me, actually? I thought they wanted me to meet a man. I thought this was the plan all along. Why are they happy I’m alone? At this point I’m so confused I don’t know which way is up or down.
Maybe I made this all up in my head. Maybe, just maybe, my parents were just being nice. Maybe they could care less if I’m (extremely) single. Maybe no one cares. Maybe not even I do anymore.
So I head home, alone and I put on my comfiest clothes on and I curl up with my fish shaped body pillow and I think, “what a great night” and then answer back all men who texted me and fall to sleep.
Isabel Chalmers is a 20-something recent university graduate who is constantly reading, writing, trying to expand her vocabulary and looking looking on the bright side of things.