Boy Crazy Betsy
BETSY stands in the middle of the stage.
I don’t like to think of it as being boy crazy. I like to think of it at being boy resilient. I am so good at flitting from love to love to love, that I won’t let one crash and burn get me down, no way no way. Not one, not two, not three or four.
Like senior year, I had a list of four boys I wanted to go with to prom. They weren’t ranked or anything: they were just possibilities. And then there was a list of maybe eight or nine who I would definitely consider. I asked one and he had plans and another and he wasn’t that down and after going through about four I got myself a prom date and we had an absolutely lovely time. I watched all my girlfriends pine over that one boy who never seems to notice them or the boy with the girlfriend and they all ended up taking other girls or taking a severe backup choice or they went stag and they all seemed so miserable because they weren’t dancing to Stairway to Heaven with the ultimate Prince Charming. And I pitied them so because I was having so much fun with Prince Just-Good-Enough because to me, any boy is good enough. Unless he doesn’t shower. And then if he’s an angsty musician it’s okay.
I think I can trace it all back to Kevin. Kevin in sixth grade. He had curly brown hair and these glasses that would change in the sunlight, oh I was so jealous of those. I wanted ones that changed in the sunlight too. And one time, I got this note passed to me. It said: “Will you go out with me. From Kevin.” I passed a note back with a resounding, “Fuck yeah!” – sixth grade being the time when everybody likes cursing and so says fuck as often as physically possible – and I beamingly sent it back to him only to find out that he had not in fact written it, it had been written by a bunch of gossipy girls who just wanted to see if I did in fact like him and it turned out that he did not in fact like me and all that I could say was fuck.
And it was from that point on that I could never really see myself getting invested in being interested in a specific boy. I had become completely convinced that any boy who flirted with me was nothing more than a few gossipy girls trying to find the latest dish. If I never found myself deeply invested in one boy, then no boy could break my heart. But I think that’s best. I don’t need a boyfriend. I don’t need anything steady or deeply invested. I’m perfectly fine with my ever changing crushes and varying standards. There will never be one boy to hold some kind of agonizing hold over my emotions. No emo poems, so late nights sobbing, none of that! I am completely resistant to that kind of bullshit. Completely, completely!
Although, sometimes, I think back to the sixth grade, and I find that I still miss Kevin. Which is lame and pathetic but… I still think back to that. And then all I can say is fuck.