I want you to kiss me. The “you” is important there. I didn’t say, “I want to kiss you.” I do. But I don’t want to initiate it. Well, no, I do. Ultimately I will have initiated it by sending the thousands of tiny signals your way in an effort to silently scream at you IF YOU LEAN IN, I WON’T SHUT YOU DOWN. Signals aside, you have to take control.

But there are rules.

I want you to kiss me, but please don’t ask because it takes away the surprise. If you verbally ask me, I will likely say no. Even though I really want our lips to lock. I’m stubborn like that. But seriously, we didn’t get to the point of potentially kissing without you having already realized you’re dealing with a fickle woman.

I want you to kiss me, but if you try without my permission then expect to get rejected. I know this sounds like I’m going against my first rule. But it’s not verbal permission. The permission I’m talking about looks pretty much the same no matter how many times I’ve found myself wanting to be kissed. It’s sinking in when our knees accidentally touch, extended eye contact, sticking around even after I’ve said, “I should go.”

I want you to kiss me, but I also wanted to wear crimson red lipstick which means you can’t kiss me. I’m a bold lip kind of woman. Red, Purple, Navy, Hot Pink, Black – these colours are my ride-or-dies that I refuse to give up. They give me strength, confidence, complete my outfit, and challenge people. Being my truest self is important, so I wore lipstick. Tell me to take it off and maybe I will.

I want you to kiss me, but I thought about the possibility of you kissing me for so long that I played out every possible scenario in my head. Now, no matter what you do, it won’t be as exciting as whatever I thought up. I’d have the answer to the mystery of you. An answer I both want and don’t want.

I want you to kiss me, but maybe don’t if you think everything I just said is high-maintenance. In the immortal words of Pacey from Dawson’s Creek, “’High maintenance’ is just another way of saying ‘high quality.’”

On my list of attractive traits in a partner, I have always been adamant that humour is the most important. Yes, that’s what everyone says because no one wants to label themselves vain and say looks take priority. But for me, it’s the honest truth. I need to laugh more than I need most things, like sleep, chocolate, heck even sex. In terms of comedy, the bar isn’t that high. Some of the deepest laughs I have ever experienced were over farts. Even now, I find the word fart hard to say without laughing. So finding a person that can make me laugh above everything else should be easy. Here’s the problem: often times it’s hard for me to differentiate between comedic genius and socially awkward.

When I see a guy whose comedic timing is slightly off, or who tells a joke that no one laughs at, or who uses obscure references that I need to Google to understand, I instantly go weak in the knees. “But Becca, in terms of comedy, these are all bad qualities!” I hear you. And objectively, I completely agree. But hear me out. It doesn’t compute in my brain that someone could have made it this far in life with such a terrible sense of humour. Thus I make the only conclusion that seems rational: this extreme awkward comedy MUST be “a bit.”

The person in front of me is now the funniest person I have ever met. I watch as they fail time and time again to make others laugh while I do my best to contain my hyena-like cackles. “They’re doing the I’m-not-funny bit again.” Priceless.

I begin to wonder what living with such a character would be like. The promise of non-stop laughs gives me the courage to ask this individual for their number. This is usually where things take a turn for the worse. What is supposed to be an adorably funny and stimulating back and forth banter is instead more like pulling teeth. I find myself re-reading messages searching for wit. I wonder how someone can be so funny in person and so flat via text. I consult my friends for advice and they tell me the person sounds like the type to live with their parents by choice. Could that be apart of the bit? Maybe they’re method like Sacha Baron Cohen? What if this is all a movie and I’m the leading lady?

I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is I am the leading lady of my life. The bad news? There are no cameras, this isn’t a movie, and more importantly: it isn’t a bit. This person is just awkward. And that’s totally okay. They’re good people. They’re just not what I thought. Not the fantasy my brain allowed me to think they were. Our text message communication ceases.

Later, I’ll run into one of their buddies at my best friend’s party and learn that said individual stopped messaging ME because MY sense of humour didn’t jive with theirs. Pardon me? I’m the one who isn’t funny? OH! It was a never a bit, their comedy was just so advanced that it went over my head! Hearts form in my eyes as I pray for the opportunity to run into them again and rekindle our romance. My best friend slaps me. Right. I was doing it again, wasn’t I? I’ll just be over here, forever searching for my Rowan Atkinson in a world full of Mr. Beans.