My friend Elise and I were talking the other night about the boys that we have dated in the past. Some we regretted losing. Others we knew it wasn't right but kind of wished we had kept dating them longer because now we have nothing.
I decided that dating is kind of like being on a gameshow. Where you can keep the prize you've already won or give it up for a mystery prize, which could be better or worse than the one you already have. Sometimes you are playing for something really good that will make you genuinely happy. Other times it's like trying to decide between a toaster and an iron... well I don't really want either, but if I had to choose...
6 comments:
The horrible thing about BYU dating is that people are always sure (or at least afraid of the possibility) that what's behind Door Number Two is better than what they've currently got. I know the feeling.
A Toaster Oven or a regular pops-up-toast-and-pop-tarts-and-toaster-strudels toaster? At least girls get a free (though maybe crappy) meal and/or entertainment (yes, a crappy experience = stories to blog = entertainment).
For guys its like investing in junk bonds... It's like a $70 a night investment for guys. gasoline/Dinner for two/movie for two/ice cream for two/Shout sticks to get that lipstick off your collar... or do the group-hang. pay for your own meal and movie $25.
Make someone else drive...oh wait that was me...(how did the guy with the smallest car always get stuck driving?!?!?!)
The worst result in the dating gameshow is when the toaster decides it actually doesn't want to be with you & runs off with the iron instead...
Maybe we should quit comparing dating to things we don't want (toasters and irons) and start comparing it to things we do want (brownies and BYU Creamery Chocolate Milk). Then maybe our positive outlook on dating will be contagious and the brownies and chocolate milk will be playing the game show to win us?
If you ever suggest having a positive outlook on this blog again... So help me Mike Hoopes...
I knew that respone was coming . . .
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