This is a letter on behalf of all women to the “nice boys:”
Boys, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you walk me home and carry my shopping bags. I’m sorry for using you as some backassed shrink whenever I had questions about whatever asshole I happened to be dating at the time.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry for calling you “cute” and counting you among my girlfriends. I’m sorry for watching you fall for me and pretending not to notice. I’m sorry for thinking of you as a nonsexual entity. I’m sorry for it all.
Because honestly? You’re the one that I want. And my psyche knows that. But instead I’m spending my nights eating crappy food with some guy who cares more about his band than asking me about, well, anything. Instead, I’m inviting you over when I need a pick-me-up because I know you’ll be there faster than light.
And it’s an out-of-body experience. I’m watching myself make a complete mess out of you. And I’m so, so sorry. But thank you for putting up with it. Because someday, it will all play out like some romantic chick flick and I’ll turn around and realize it’s been you all along. Someday.
But for now, thank you for taking my coat and for treating me to midnight snacks. Thank you for going with me to buy shoes or tampons or a new date outfit. Thank you for waiting outside the dressing room while I try on hundreds of potential getups.
Thank you for watching me watch chick flicks. Thank you for picking up my call every time (even if he doesn’t seem to think I exist). Thank you for sharing online jokes and acknowledging my birthday. Thank you for giving me second (and third and fourth) chances. One of these times, I promise, I’ll get it right.