Karen's page

Girls' Life, August-Sept, 2003

There are those girls who seem magically blessed when it comes to getting guys. You know them. They aren't the prettiest, the smartest or even the funniest girl in the room, but they seem to have been given an extra sprinkling of dating dust, that elusive agent that draws guys like mosquitoes to a bug zapper.

Then there are other girls, like me. Hello, my name is Karen and I have DDD--Dating Dust Deficiency. It's not something I am proud of, it's not something I admit to many people, but it's true: In the guy-magnet department, I am a bit of a dud.

It isn't that guys don't like me--all my guy friends tell me I'm one of their favorite girls to hang out with. But get a guy I like in front of me and, Well, it's not pretty.

In hopes of becoming more like the dating-dust girls, I spent the last few weeks observing them in their natural habitat--parties, the pool, you name it. I studied every hair toss, mentally filed away every cute comment ("Oh my gosh, I loved that movie, too. It was so awesome!"), even tried on a pair of capri pants (I'm five ten, can I tell you how stupid I look in capri pants? Like I shrunk my khakis in the wash and didn't notice).

Which brings me to last Saturday: My friend Patrick had a huge 4th ofJuly BBQ and, I think, made it his mission to invite every hot guy for 50 miles around (gotta love friends like that), including Garrett, a guy I've had a baby crush on for the past couple of summers. In short, this BBQ was the perfect opportunity to try out my new dating-dust skills.

A few hours before the party, wouldn't you know it--it started to rain. I'm talking buckets of time-to-build-the-ark downpour. So much for my sundress with flip-flops combo (dating-dust girls always seem to have that "I look adorable without even trying" look). I threw on some jeans, a tee and a pair of flip-flops so trashed I only wear them to outdoor concerts. Clearly, I wasn't declaring my independence from dating dud-dom this evening. Sigh.

Despite the weather, everyone showed up at Patrick's, slightly soaked but still psyched. It didn't take me long to spot Garrett in a corner, trying to spark up the soggy tiki torches.

It also didn't take long for me to spot a gaggle of dating-dust girls closing in. I watched one (in fab rain boots and a minidress; why didn't I think of that?) snuggle close, cup her palms around the tiki torch, then coo as Garrett got it to light. There she stood, inches away, bathed in the golden glow. My chances with Garrett were more toasted than the marshmallows.

I spent the next couple hours with my friends, talking and laughing. Happily, I forgot all about my DDD. My crew was having too much fun to make the short trek down to the harbor, where our town does the local fireworks display, so I decided to go it alone.

Watching the explosions of red, white and blue, I had to face the fact that I could never truly be a dating-dust girl. I just couldn't fake liking movies I think are dumb, wear clothes I feel like a dark in and ignore that my hair is about a million strands shy of a good toss.

"Great show, huh?" I almost fell into the water. It was Garrett. Think fast! Say "Awesome!"

Instead, I just smiled and turned back to the display.

"You don't mind if I just stand here with you and watch, do you?" he asked.

"No, that's cool," I said, taking an extra step closer so I could hear him over the booms.

"Good," he said. "There are a lot of cute girls at that party, but I just never know what to say to any of them."

I may not have dating dust, but, standing there with Garrett that night, I knew I had all the fireworks I needed.