Cursed Love Life

The typical story of boy-meets-girl just isn't the same if you don't add a particular twist. A twist is necessary to get a good romance story going because without it, love would just seem too impossibly easy, not to mention fake. Like, "The Prince and Me," only worse. I'm not usually one for modern non-William Blake romance stories for that reason, but I will go as far as saying that I appreciate Jane Austen. At least she mentions things like family opinions, monetary values, and the importance of being an attractive personality in romantic relationships. Not just an attractive face. Modern romance seems to focus so much on...well...physical attachments. Since when are the Wiloughbys and Wickhams of the world valued as desirable life partners? They used to be called out as the selfish, egotistical, handsome faces that we love but enjoy observing from afar. Generally they're not the sort of people one is happy living with. Now they're the ones who are considered prince charming material? Its no wonder we're messed up.

My story is still in progress because of my particular twist, you see, I am cursed.

I had no idea I was cursed until a few years ago when I reflected back upon my love life and realized that every male I've ever held the slightest interest in has managed to get married within a year after I've met them...usually to a roommate of mine.

For years I had thought I was simply another statistic of modern times. I was an un-dated woman whose only crime was living in a sea of impossible to meet standards of perfection. Not to mention being steeped in a culture that had put way too many expectations and opinions on the subject. When my friends began to get married, I considered that I was maybe more awkward than I realized and the boys could see me stumble over my drooling tongue a mile away.

Turns out I do have "a face" when I am nervous about approaching someone new, man or woman. It looks a bit like a gargoyle who is somewhere between a snarl, a scream, or extreme constipation. The right half of my face lifts and my nose and eyebrows crinkle just a fraction and my eyes will look like a pair of bicycle tires. About as approachable as a rottweiler with dementia. But the cure to anything begins with identification right? I will simply not approach anyone if my face does anything unnatural from now on...the life of a spinster, yea...I'm doomed.

I would doubt the reality of my curse if it wasn't for the consistency in which it keeps happening, and at increasing rates. Seriously, every time I feel the slightest inclination toward someone they;

a) have a girlfriend/other interest
b) are engaged
c) are married or
d) are single, but soon attached to someone else.

What amazes me most is the speed at which the universe works to divulge this information to me. Not five seconds after meeting a seemingly good man. I'll notice him hand holding, or ring bearing, or he'll be giving me a vocal confession of his relationship status. I stopped counting after the eleventh guy informed me of his marriage. I know, I know, ring check, but what kind of lame desperate person does that? The guy does notice where your eyes go first when you meet them whether its the hand or his biceps. One is certainly more flattering to him than the other.

I tell myself that I just like making friends. However, when I get that hook pull feeling in my heart that signals the beginnings of attraction, I begin to worry about such things as rings and character and suddenly out comes gargoyle rottweiler snarly woman who can't look anyone in the eyes for fear of unknown expectations.

Perhaps being too picky was the real problem behind the curse? It wasn't like I was exclusively searching out the super models. They usually weren't my type anyway. My first crush/secret boyfriend was tall and skinny with dark hair, glasses, and pimple scars. Several of my other crushes were quiet types or types with disabilities. I've admired men of all sizes, shapes, ethnicity, and dress style. Unless you consider the matters of character, conversation, life style, and attitude, I have a hard time believing I'm picky at all. The only logical conclusion is that I must be cursed.

The curse has progressed to the point where I'm not even surprised anymore. After liking eleven married men you just stop counting and deal with it. Where am I now? About fifty failures? Don't even get me started on that Edison quote. A thousand failures before one win is hardly comforting to someone who doesn't even date once in a blue moon. Whatever witch decided to do me a number has got some serious voodoo. It's been at least five years now since my last boyfriend, I haven't the heart to count the time since my last real date.

Even the single men in my life are not exempt from this curse. Currently, there is every "yes" sign in the book pointed at one particular guy, Chris. He's an extremely tall, prominent faced man with standards that, according to his boss, would make him eligible for sainthood if he were Catholic. A perfect recipe for emotional disaster. Despite the glowing second hand resume I was given, I balked at the very idea of flirting. You see, like a cat with a squirt bottle, I've been very well trained. The universe may suddenly decide to mail him off to some other girl before I get the chance to flirt like its done twenty times before. Surely, it only does that to please it's sick sense of humor.

The universe hates logical people.

It must be because logical people are constantly trying to straighten out and measure the chaotic universe so it can be fit into a neat an orderly box. The universe. also not unlike a cat, isn't fond of boxes but is fond of playing with logic by introducing emotion in every equation logical people can come up with. Logically, I shouldn't try for him because if a + b = c and I know that because of my curse attraction + interaction = rejection; then why bother? However; the universe is sneaky. By writing him off immediately the universe has now decided to plague me with him through our mutual connections.

"So what do you think about Chris?"
"Will you see Chris today at Martial Arts?"
"You say you don't, but you totally like him. Why else does his name keep coming up?"

Because the universe hates me.

Actually, a man from Jujitsu, who is also Chris's employer at the small local radio station has requested me to help Chris in areas of communication because I'm so good at it and he's...not. As in he doesn't speak. Ever. OK, he's not Fitzwilliam Darcy bad, but he is bad. And he's supposed to be working in one of the most vocal intensive jobs in the world? I'd been asking people advice on just how to go about it. I'm usually so good with quiet people and getting them to talk. The problem with Chris is that he's just as good at running away. Unfortunately, because he's a single man and I'm a single woman who has been talking about him I've somehow given off the crushing vibe. Did I mention that I live in a culture that puts way too many expectations and opinions on the subject of romance?

It's as impossible to run from this guy as it is to find him. Ever since everyone starting talking to me about him he's been nowhere to be found. Not at church and not at Jujitsu. He's just gone.

The whole experience in irritating.

What can I do? I could tell them I'm cursed, but I'm not sure they'd believe me. Who believes in curses?

We'll see how this story pans out.