GIRLS AREN'T FUNNY.

Dear Future Boyfriend,

Hey man. It’s me, Meg. Sorry this isn’t coming in the form of a text or tweet, but I’ve got some explaining to do and it’s going to take more than 140 characters to say everything. No, I haven’t done anything wrong (I mean, come on. Seriously?), but there are a few things you should know before we commit to what will surely be an interesting relationship.

First of all, you’re my second serious boyfriend ever. Yes, I’m 25. No, I haven’t been on a date since 2006. This doesn’t bother me, but it does put me at a slight disadvantage as far as knowing what twenty-somethings do on dates. So, please just know that you’ll be planning the first few dates as the last date I went on involved watching a Jude Law movie in a dorm while eating sub-par ice cream from the campus convenience store. And if a movie is in the evening’s itinerary, take note that I now prefer Joseph Gordon-Levitt to Jude Law and pretty much any other type of venue to a dorm room.

You should also know that I’m not much of a girly-girl. This isn’t me railing against some stereotype; I just find that after a while, stiletto heels seem to set my back on fire, and I don’t know how a girl is supposed to choose between nail polish colors labeled “Pale Pink,” “Palest Pink,” or “Even More Pale than Palest Pink.” And I almost never wear skirts or dresses, though this has less to do with being girly and more to do with irrationally fearing that I forgot to put on underwear whenever I wear a dress-like garment.

Please know that I always wear underwear.

I hope you’ve always found the sternum to be a woman’s sexiest feature because I have zero cleavage. In fact, if I lie down, I’m pretty sure I could balance a large dinner plate on the space below my chin and above my stomach. I know, I know: my talents are limitless. No doubt you find this enchanting.

I have a long list of fears, too, that you may one day need to help me overcome. These fears include birds, clowns, ventriloquist dummies, flying in airplanes, being trapped in small spaces, hitting a deer while driving, getting hit by a foul ball at a baseball game and suffering a concussion like Drew Barrymore’s character in “Fever Pitch,” etc. And sloths freaked me out for a while, but we’re cool now.

What’s interesting is that in spite of all my quirks—or maybe because of them—you like me. Maybe you appreciate my spot-on Randy Jackson impersonation. Perhaps you’re bewitched by the fact that I’ve memorized the bar code on my library card (but then again, what lady hasn’t?). Or maybe what you most admire is my gift for developing character backstories for every animal I see (geese are notoriously shifty, amiright?). Whatever your reason, I just want to say thanks, and that I like you, too.

So that’s all. You look out for me, and I promise I’ll look out for you. Unless you’re ever attacked by a seagull, in which case I will run away screaming.

Love, Meg