Home Run!

People tend to give me a lot of credit for how smart I may or may not be, primarily because of interesting steps I've taken in the course of my education and being able to solve a Rubik's cube, but also because of a vast store of strange nuggets of knowledge I like to whip out in conversation.

However, if anyone in the course of a study on human ritualistic pre-mating behaviours (aka "dating") was observing me, the only conclusion they would be able to come up with is that I was dropped on my head a lot as a kid, and possibly as an adult, too.

My cluelessness when it comes to relating to guys is possibly due to my upbringing. I have 3 older brothers, so I know how to survive being a little sister. The problem is, I was a sheltered, youngest, only daughter in an Hispanic family. Flirting was not an encouraged activity. Dating is only ok if it's your husband. Ok, I jest a bit, but I didn't really date anyone or even have the chance to have good girl friends to talk about things with through the crucial times of adolescence when it's expected that we should be pretty awkward.

Even now I realize I'm kind of an idiot. For instance, last night I was having a deep philosophical discussion with my apartment's security guard and one of my neighbors when the concept of first base came up. I have never been fully versed on what exactly constitutes 1st, 2nd, and 3rd base activity, although I kind of figured out what a home run is a while back. So I received a short lecture, and I feel a bit wiser.

Then there's me on an actual date. A few nights ago I met a guy out for a movie. He seems nice enough, but he's 23 and has no idea how old I am or what I do for a living as of yet. Anyhow, we saw There Will Be Blood (incidentally, one of the least romantic movies you could ever choose to see). He was sitting on my right. Sometime during the movie, he offered me his left hand. What did I do? Much like a baboon studying an interesting find, I picked it up with both hands and looked at his palm. What was I thinking? I think I thought he had a splinter or something that needed medical attention.

Him: "No, the other hand."
Me: "Other hand?" I reach over to look at the palm of his right hand.
Him: "No, your other hand."

Completely baffled, I showed him my right hand, and then he took it in his left hand.

Ooooh... holding hands! Got it. Yeah, I told you I'm an idiot. That story is not exaggerated, in case you're wondering. It's the Gospel truth.