At 19, I was the least-qualified person on the
planet when it came to telling other people who to date. I was raised on
Disney movie happily-ever-afters and caught up in an on-again,
off-again relationship that rivaled Jelena's. What did I know about dating? But I had to learn fast, because that year, I started working as a matchmaker.
My qualifications included being obsessed with reading the Boston Globe Magazine's column "Dinner With Cupid"
with my dad back in high school. Every week, a writer set up two people
on a blind date and chronicled their experiences. I didn't have a high
school boyfriend and was usually too shy to make a move when I had a
crush, so "Dinner With Cupid" was my way into the world of dating and
romance. I loved it.
Once
I moved to college, I started to come out of my shell and date,
because I was meeting new guys all the time. I was in the heart of New
York City! A few months into my freshman year, I met one particular guy
and fell for him hard.
Like, day-dreaming in class about his face, holding hands at every
possible moment, trading sappy Valentine's Day cards hard. But while I
loved every exhilarating, anxiety-inducing second of dating, most of my
new friends at school seemed to hate it. They got frustrated when guys
wouldn't text them back (i.e. ALL THE TIME), or they spent hours before
the date in a nervous panic.
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