Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Never Stalk a Boy with a White Truck

            Some people might tell you never to stalk a guy. Period. In many situations, this is probably an incredibly valid and potentially superior option to the former. However, in the case that you are prone to the occasional stalking-spree, I will give you this word of advice – never stalk a boy with a White Truck. At first knowledge of finding that this boy does indeed drive a White Truck, you might pat yourself on the back (like I did) for finding a boy manly enough to handle a truck, but sensitive in a way that would choose the color white which naturally requires greater attention and care. In the same way that he is dedicated to taking his White Truck to the car wash more regularly than the average “Blue Truck Joe”, you are certain he will be more attentive in caring for your little needs and desires. As this boy, who you have only subconsciously decided to stalk at this point, drives away, there is an instant mental note made of the brand of the truck, and the overall size of the vehicle;  you are certain this will be enough to identify the stalkee (the boy)  to the stalker (you)  in any given time or place.

            You are wrong. 

What you have never noticed before is that everyone: male, female, confused, dead certain, and otherwise, drives a White Truck. What started out as a beautiful metaphor for the type of guy you were hoping to build a picket fence with, turns into something of a nervous tick that gives you whiplash every time you desperately search out the White Truck passing you by for signs of the one boy- the one with the chiselled abs – that could secure all your future happiness. 

The summer that I stalked the beautiful boy in the White Truck was anti-climactic at best. As the summer came to a close, I did get my chance with him, no help from my obsessive search efforts. He did not become less gorgeous than he had been at first glance. His abs did not become less economical to dry my clothes on than at the beginning of our brief encounters; but I realized that he had not been what I was looking for.  Yes, I had finally identified the right white truck to the right hunky owner, but neither of these rights ended up being right for me.

 Maybe the only helpful anecdote to take from this - at least helpful to my own amorous future - is that there are always more White Trucks on the highway of life. It is up to us whether we choose to pass them by, or maybe hitch a ride in one of them for a mile or two.  

Or three.

No comments:

Post a Comment