Hi, I’m Em. And I love me an ill-advised dating experience.
This blog will detail the truly laughable moments I have had as a girl givin’ it a good go on the single scene. I will endeavour to change names, but everything else stays verbatim.
Let’s start from the very beginning.
My first crush was a boy named William. We were 4 years old, our Mums were friends and our first ‘date’ was to The Wiggles Live. After some solid toddler bopping, we shared Baker’s Delight iced buns. It was a sweet, sticky delight, and honestly it set the romance bar pretty high. Ever since then I’ve been on the hunt for that same saccharine hit. Royal icing and “Big Red Car” – those were dizzying heights, I tell ya.
Devastatingly, the childhood sweetheart montage was cut short, as was my dating life. Soon after our ‘date’ the Hanson family packed up and moved three hours away, down to a small beach town called Dunsborough. Surrounded by surfers, I quickly evolved into a big nerd – which really inhibited any of the extra curricular activities you see in American movies. Spin the bottle and ‘seven minutes in heaven’ were just a Judy Blume dream. When I was 9 I did have a boyfriend out of convenience for a brief period. His best friend was ‘going out’ with my best friend… so we all awkwardly sat on the school oval together. Dearest L is now (i.e. was always) gay and is easily better looking than anyone I will ever date again. Peaked early, Hanson.
In high school I never really fit in. I tried to but it always felt so forced, and there was so much pretending involved. Ah, the oxymoron that is trying to look effortless. I definitely wasn’t sporty, I wasn’t that smart, I was short and chubby and had no boobs to speak of – which of course is a hugely important popularity indicator for a teenage girl. I felt a lot like Neville Longbottom in a sea of Malfoys (I mean, this metaphor alone is indicative of my cool-factor). So I tried playing instruments – clarinet, saxophone, piano. I gave the Drama Club thing a go. Signed up for dance, public speaking and languages. A big problem was that they all required practice, and I was lazy. As such, even the band geeks shunned me (what a social low!)
Academia be damned – in Year 11 I committed to a full-time emo/scene image. Sure, it was the sheltered version of ‘off the rails’, but I was definitely a brat. I became vegetarian just to piss my Mum off, and listened to so much Death Cab for Cutie it was a health concern. I went to house parties that we’d justify as ‘gatherings’ to our parents with my new fun friend Claire, but I was always a bit too scared to be relaxed enough. What eventuated was me getting drunk on whatever awful concoction her older boyfriend had scrounged for us, awkwardly fumbling around with some random boys… and then calling my Mum to pick me up. How uncool.
Ultimately, the early years of puppy love were a series of fits and starts. At 16 I was on my L Plates, learning to drive in more ways than one. There were a lot of poorly executed hill starts, shall we say. I still didn’t have any boobs, but what I lacked in chest I made up for in enthusiasm. And so began the next 10 years of Classic Hanson dating.
Welcome to the Fuckboy Chronicles.