I’ve never really been the kind of girl that falls in love, that has a dainty back-and-forth Austenesque dance of a courtship, and a beautiful church wedding.

Never fear, I’m still not. My hair is boyishly short, my outfit delicately androgynous, and my leather jacket makes me look somewhere between biker chic and punk-rock. And I like it that way.

I’m sort of fond of my crazy, off-the-wall self. And marriage, I’ve always been afraid, would take that away from me.

But lately I’ve had to consider “what if?” What if, somewhere in the world, there is a guy that is going to like me, with all my issues, and my coffee addiction, and my strange affinity for English literature, and my high-heels that send me towering over everyone else.

And God help me, someone showing interest is the most terrifying thing to exist in this universe, hands down.

I spent high school going from a background character in someone else’s life to my own main character. The title character. I’ve never thought my life had room for a co-star, never thought that my Director and Producer might just be doing auditions for a romantic interest.

But maybe, maybe, maybe…

And yes, it’s weird and scary. Which is definitely mature adult terminology except for in every way how it’s not, how I feel like this mousy middle-school girl again, wearing an ugly turtleneck, bedecked with braces and an unfortunate haircut and unflattering glasses.

And I’ve proved over and over to myself and those around me that the rituals of normal human relationships escape me. To my everlasting and unsurprising shame, it took a phone conversation with my Dad for me to realize that he was flirting. My Dad had to tell me, adult-woman-me, that I was being flirted with.

Can you see why this might be an issue?

But this tiny part of me is relishing it, too. I’ve never seen myself as any kind of adequate companion. I’m a fun friend, brimful of pop culture knowledge and witty commentary and random facts and cheery arguments. But frankly, the idea of someone seeing that and thinking “oh, i think i want that around me almost 24/7 for the rest of my life” seems ludicrous. Asinine, even.

There are days, in all honesty, where I don’t like to live with myself.

Why would someone else like to live with me, then?

Of course, I’ve reached the age where everyone around me is getting married, in relationships, and becoming parents or aunts and uncles. And it doesn’t wake in me a very particular longing.

But, what if it does for someone else? And their tentative pursuit of me reflects their desire for “normalcy” and not any desire for my company?

I guess maybe I’ll find out.

I like my life best as a sit-com, and not a soap opera though. I hope my Director knows what He’s doing. He’s done fine before, but this is one of the those casting decisions that might mean a change in set and in filming location, and those are the kind of decisions that make me antsy and desperate to assume control.

It’s also flattering, honestly. To potentially to be liked, not in spite of my quirks, but because of them. It’s heady and intoxicating. And, in case you’ve missed it the last few times I’ve mentioned, pretty scary.

I don’t really believe in soulmates or love at first sight. Caring, let alone dating, and love, and marriage, are a lot of work, that I’m not really sure I want to deal with very quickly.

I’m going to try to let this one play out. Very slowly. See where it goes. Follow my script, not miss my cues, pay attention to the background music, that sort of thing.