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About The Battalion. (College Station, Tex.) 1893-current | View Entire Issue (Jan. 29, 1987)
Editor’s note: In this week’s attention!! column, journalism student Melanie Perkins takes a humourous look at life without a mate. The panic sets in. Slowly at first, subtly — a thief in the night. It’s not because I’m less than four months from graduation with no job in sight, although that might be enough to panic some people. It’s because I’m less than four months from graduation with no engagement ring on my finger, and even worse —no prospects in sight. I’ve been fighting off this panic — this choking feeling — for quite some time. I hate to admit even to myself that I feel . this sense of urgency — this feeling that I have to make my last days of college count. Maybe I can find someone special who will continue to call even after I’ve graduated and have been thrust into the oblivion of the real world. Maybe someone not so special, just decent. I keep telling myself it’s still too early at 22 to admit defeat. I’m not bothered that no one ever asks me out. OK, I am bothered that no one ever asks me out. But I’m not bothered that much. Just lack of taste on their part. Or shyness. Or something. See, I’ve learned how to protect my feelings. And that’s important when one is getting up in the years. Which reminds me. I lied. I am asked out sometimes. But I’m a fifth-year senior. The youngsters who ask me out are invariably freshmen, or sophomores if I’m lucky. So they don’t count. Don’t get me wrong. I have a social life. How? I go out with my friends, who all seem to have the same problem as I do. I’ve even learned to consider it a blessing rather than a problem, except when the panic creeps in. Except for now. To calm myself, I look at my ex-friends and critique their relationships with men. I say ex-friends because they don’t go out with me anymore, they only go out with “that special guy. ” This activity can be loads of fun, but it tends to get downright cruel. That’s OK too, because the crueler it gets, the better I feel. Take Illyce for example. I always start with her. She was my best friend until we were both 15. Then she got married. At 15. And no, she didn’t have to. The guy she mamed is 10 years older than she is. Sounds like fun, huh? She has two kids now. In the meantime, I’m at college having the time of my life. I feel better already. Now on to people I see every day. Take Ann and Mike for example. What a nerd Mike is! I’d rather be alone. And Amy and Randy — all over each other, even in public. And Bob and Sue. She brought him over to go swimming one day and he wore a Speedo, of all things. “Yuck” is the only word I can use to describe that. I could go on, and often do, depending on how low I’m feeling at the time. But I do have a problem. I hate to admit it, but sometimes dates, besides being nice to have, are necessary. This realization brought on the latest bout with depression. I hate to ask guys out. It’s that simple. If I could think of a stronger word than hate, I would use it. But sometimes I have to swallow my pride and make a go of it. I do this rarely and only when I need a date to a function that everyone else is, bringing dates to — like a formal or something. And only because I don’t want to look like I can’t get a date. These are the times when I wish I was engaged or at least had a steady boyfriend. These are the times that make me wonder about my purpose in life. These are the times I want to catch the flu. Not only do I have to get a date, but I have to get a presentable date, someone who will look good in pictures, someone who won’t embarrass me somehow, though, unfortunately, this is hard to tell beforehand. I could always ask a friend, or so I thought. Even this is hard, but the last time I needed a date I tried it. Keep in mind that I have never been turned down — mainly because I research the situation and the person carefully before I get someone to ask him for me. I knew he’d go with me. He’d been out with me before, we were friends, he didn’t have anything else to do that weekend. See, I do my research. So I asked him. He said yes. I knew he would or I wouldn’t have asked. I even called and ■ : : m- asked him myself. That is confidence. Obviously he reconsidered. 1 got a phone call at 1 o’clock in the morning. Turns out he can’t go. Felt real bad about it though. He said he called his girlfriend. Gee, I didn’t know about this girlfriend when we went out before. She goes to school in Italy. Oh, OK. She got upset when he told her. He tells her everything. So she doesn’t like me. She started to cry and told him not to go. So he can’t. He’s sorry though. I thank him for calling, though I think he could make up a more believable story. Even I can do better, and I rarely get the opportunity. m ^ : photo by Bill Hughes Once again, no date at the last minute. The panic sets in. Editor’s Note: This Attention! page will be used each week as a forum for you, our readers. VJe encourage you to submit any original work that would be suitable for publication in At Ease. Pictures should be black and white shots that are unique either in content, angle or technique. Columns, essays or poems should be no longer than 500 words, and should relate to an unusual experience, a new perspective on a common experience, or just about anything else you want to share with our readers. Please don’t send us your gripes, complaints, or sermons on heavy-duty issues — send those to the Battalion’s Opinion Page. Don’t forget to put your name and phone number on anything you send us. Then just drop it off at the Battalion, Room 216 of the Reed McDonald Building. Be sure to specify that it is for At Ease.
