His name was Michael Ursel and I loved him. At the age of six I was captivated by his luscious red hair and glasses that came from Steve Urkel’s fashion line. I would do anything to catch his attention from skipping kindergarten to playing in the park to sacrificing my chocolate Dunkaroos at snack time when Urkel Junior developed a sweet tooth. I played Hot Wheels when I yearned to spend time with my Barbies, and I was a power ranger when I longed to play house at recess.
Reality Check: We all do ridiculous things in order to capture the attention of those we like – especially in young adulthood.
We’ve all experienced it. Your heart starts to race like Yusain Bolt in the 2008 Summer Olympics. Your face turns a shade of Iago red, off Disney’s Aladdin, and you suddenly develop a speech impediment where your d’s turn into q’s when you speak in their presence.
Do not fret, you’ve caught the love bug or love influenza, whichever you prefer. Now what do you do with this bucket of feelings? Easy, you stalk them by learning their daily schedule and analyze their every move when they’re sitting in JDH. This is not exactly charming or by any means seductive. However, we should not be held responsible for any such actions when we’ve caught the high fever.
We all go to extreme measures for people who enthral our hearts. A few years ago, a friend and I were driving down Forest Hill Road and saw a couple of boys walking. They were appealing to the eye, so we decided to stop the car a few feet ahead, and pretend we had broken down. We strategically popped the hood and claimed we “smelt something burning.” The guys did everything from checking the oil, to smelling the exhaust. Finally, they came to the conclusion that I didn’t know how to properly use my clutch. Little did they know, I just didn’t know how to properly ask them to dinner and a movie.
It’s as though we lose half of our brain when we catch the sickness. We alter our daily routine so it runs parallel to theirs. We take the longest route home just so we can catch a glimpse of them at the bus stop. We are available 24/7 on Facebook just in case they come online, or edit our entire profile to make ourselves appear more desirable.
We bring up their name in conversation to people they associate with, and then report back to our friends with what we’ve learned.
Halfway through the year we attempt to sit beside them in English. However, this throws the entire seating arrangement off for the rest of the class, leaving everyone confused and uncomfortable in this unfamiliar assembly – except for you, of course. We buy 10 new outfits which accentuate our physical features.
We start studying at McCain Hall or the library when we’ve never set foot in there a day in our life. We talk obnoxiously loud when they’re within hearing distance, so they are aware of our presence. We bathe in body spray every morning so they recognize our irresistible scent. We pretend we need help in some of our classes, when we’re on the honour roll. Or my personal favourite: We bake them hundreds of cookies when they live next door.
I have a friend who took the psychological approach and read every magazine and psychology journal known to man – and woman – on how to attract the opposite sex.
She said she would take advice from these entries and do everything from pointing out her waist to hip ratio, proving to her love interest that she is fertile. She would also remind Mr. Right whenever she was going to the beach this summer, to plant the image of her in a bathing suit in his head.
It’s safe to say that at some point, we do almost everything short of being forward when we’re sick with the love bug. (Understandably, since the possibility of rejection is rather nauseating). However, the only way to rid yourself of this bedridden torment is to simply ask that person out. If they say “yes,” you’ve been cured. However, if they say “no,” there are plenty of bugs circulating campus per season. So go down some Buckley’s, take a couple of Tylenol Cold pills and remember: bugs are contagious.
