I never wanted to date. Ever.

I first told someone that when I was 8. Boys had cooties, of course. And called me names, burped in my face, and pulled my hair. And even if they were nice, and came over and gave you cookies and rode their bicycle with you, they would only pretend to ignore you in the schoolyard later when their friends were around.

Who needs that?

One of the first boys I ever had a crush on was older than me. He was friends with my stepbrother, and he was perfect in every way. I strove to be bigger, and stronger, and smarter to get his attention. Then one day while driving home from camp he stuck a toothpick up his nose, pulled out a ginormous bundle of snot and named it Arnold Swartzabooger and waved it around proudly for the remainer of the 3 hour trip.

Boys just weren't for me, I resolved.

In grade 7 a lot of my friends got boyfriends. Their relationships mostly involved teasing each other mercilessly in the classrooms, furtively sneaking kisses at the various dances, and for the rest of the time pretending that the other person didn't exist.

What's the point of that?

In highschool, dating was rampant. It was like the flu. Everyone was catching it. I kept persuading my friends not to do it. Boys were stupid, and us girls needed to stick together. Hearts were breaking all around me, and tears were staining school binders and cheerleading pom poms in every direction.

It was a zoo, I tell you. And I didn't want any part of it.

In grade 11 I got asked out by a friend of mine. It was completely unexpected. And in my moment of shock, I felt the first tingles of excitement. The feeling of wonder. Of course at the time I just passed it off as indigestion. As if a silly boy could make me feel that way. Pfft.

My first kiss was awful. First of all, I was tricked into it. I had no intention of ever laying my lips on anyone, and I was shocked that he wanted me to. We'd been dating for a month before he finally coerced me into a corner and planted a big, fat, wet kiss on my trembling lips. It tasted like nacho cheese chips. And I'd had cleaner kisses from my Irish Setter.

I couldn't eat nachos again for over a year.

We broke up not long after that, and I swore off kissing as well as dating. If that much slobber was supposed to be involved in the former, I was sure I'd quickly get ghastly dehydrated and die.

When I was 17, there was a guy who walked home the same way as me. I always followed behind him, and found myself inexplicitly starting at his butt. Eventually I think perhaps he noticed my fascination with his assets and started walking home next to me, so I could stare into his eyes instead.

That was the first time ever I can recall wanting to date someone.

He was tall, and charming in a goofy sort of way. He made me laugh. He was very shy. He asked me out to semi-formal on my 18th birthday party, when we were both filled with liquid courage.

He kissed like a hoover vaccuum. Sometimes I worried that he was going to suck my lips right off. Frequently after a particularly heavy make-out session, I'd excuse myself and go to the bathroom and check in the mirror to see if they were still there.

What followed after was a rather long and messy relationship. He broke up with me while we sat on a picnic table in a park. I was convinced he stomped my heart in two.

But during our relationship I had experienced that feeling again. That tingly, excitement of the first time you kiss (even if it was awful), the first time you find out their secrets, the first time you lay tangled in anothers embrace after making love all night long...all the little first times that are so sweet and wonderful and new.

So, it wasn't long before I pursued dating again. Those first-time feelings were like a drug, and I was addicted. All of a sudden, the unexplainable had happened.

I enjoyed dating.

I enjoyed every awkward, romantic, euphoric, messy, nervous moment of dating someone new.

I loved finding out if they were good kissers. I loved learning about them. I loved finding out what turned them on, what made them laugh, what made them angry. I loved the absurdity of it all... I mean it is absurd, don't you think? What's dating technically supposed to be for? Finding someone to spend the rest of your life with, that's what. Whether you actually use dating as a means of finding someone special, or finding special moments with a lot of different people, that's up to you.

In my case, I was all about never settling down. What the heck would you want to do that for? Things will get boring. They'll expect too much. They'll begin to take you for granted.

Fuck that, man. I'm playing the field!

I'm fairly convinced I could have kept doing that for a much longer time than I did.

When I met Ryan, I didn't expect it to last very long. 4 months was my record, and I didn't feel the need to expand upon it anytime soon.

But my whole world spun when we touched. He made me lose my mind. And that was special. And for the first time that new feeling wasn't fading away. I figured I'd just hang around with him, just a little longer...then we'd go our separate ways.

Well, here I am. A year and a half later.

And most of my friends are still dating. And sometimes I'm jealous.

Because you know, I miss dating. I miss experiencing brand new things, with brand new people.

I miss it, but I wouldn't trade what I have now for anything in the world. Because my fingers still tingle when we touch. I still lose myself when we kiss. He can still make me laugh like nobody else. He knows all my secrets. He loves me.

And everyday is still new. I wake up and gaze at his silent sleeping form, and wonder how I managed to find him.

I enjoyed dating. I enjoyed playing a small part in someone else's life.

But for the first time I'm loving something else. The idea of being so much more. Being a part of something so wonderful I don't have words to express it.

Having someone be the only life I ever want to touch again. The only person I ever want to give me butterflies again. Because, he still does.

So cheers. Here's to keeping the butterflies.