With a new year and semester beginning, I was determined to make better choices in 2019—especially when it came to men. But a few weeks after being back at Queen’s, a wine mixer, house party, and a few misguided suitors have put my hopes to rest.

I met Nate,* who could be best described as stoner-meets-surfer, at a friend’s house. I found out his main hobby was wood carving so, naturally, I assumed he was good with his hands.

While we were talking, Nate’s hand slowly wandered towards my leg. Whereas the typical reaction would be to hold hands, he chose instead to hold my ankle.

I squirmed, feeling uncomfortable as he caressed it for the next 40 minutes while we sat in a room full of people. Needless to say, his hand game was a little worse than I’d hoped.

Through Nate, I met Dan,* a guy in my faculty who was not too bright but could compensate for it with his looks.

Fast forward a month later to a kegger where I met Chuck.* Chuck was shy and lanky, and seemed nice at the time. However, later that night, I found myself victim to his live renditions of almost every song on the Hamilton soundtrack.

Thinking it wasn’t too much of a red flag, I decided to go home with Chuck anyways. That night, during a rather unimpressive hookup, Chuck confessed he was a virgin, to which I replied, “Yeah, I figured.” Probably not one of my best moments.

The setting of this unfortunate diary entry is a packed house party where sangria was served by the pitcher and people danced on beer pong tables. I arrived with Dan and then, with a red solo cup of sangria in hand, ran into Chuck.

Instead of leaving Dan and I alone, Chuck decided to intimidate Dan in the washroom. Chuck staked his claim on me by threatening anyone who stood in his way, no matter when or where, any time and any place.

At this point, I began to realize seeing multiple guys who were all vying for my attention at once was probably not going to go over well.

I tried to calm Dan down, who was shaken from being harassed and falsely told that Chuck and I were in a relationship. While I comforted him, we were interrupted by Nate—the boy with a penchant for ankles—who swept me away to play beer pong.

I knew then that all three of my 2019 suitors were at the party, and in the same room. I decided it was time to leave. Dan, some other friends, and I trekked to The Lazy Scholar for a late-night four-piece.

Unfortunately, Chuck tagged along. I found myself trapped.

At some point during our late-night snacking, both Dan and Chuck approached my housemate for advice on how to win my heart. Whatever she said to them didn’t deter their advances and the two followed me home.

Upon arrival, the two men walked directly to my friend’s room. Chuck immediately knocked a row of about 15 plants off a windowsill, then attempted to vacuum up the spilled soil. Dan chose that moment to pick up my friend’s guitar and start playing “Smoke on the Water,” by Deep Purple.

My housemates and I sat quietly in the corner, watching these scenes unfold in shock.  We were left with a symphony of vacuuming, tense conversation, and guitar strumming.

Eventually Chuck realized he wouldn’t win me over with his lackluster cleaning skills and took the guitar from Dan’s hands so he could play it. He declared himself the best guitar player before struggling through a rendition of Oasis’ “Wonderwall.” The guitar seemed to morph into some kind of phallic symbol, with both boys’ masculine personas battling for the opportunity to play me a few notes.

He declared himself the best guitar player before struggling through a rendition of Oasis’ “Wonderwall.” The guitar seemed to morph into some kind of phallic symbol, with both boys’ masculine personas battling for the opportunity to play me a few notes.

Leaving the room and, more importantly, the guitar behind, I found myself in the hallway with no escape. Somehow, I managed to awkwardly kick Chuck out, while bringing Dan back to my room without causing a scene.

In the end, it was a successful night. But a month later, Dan confessed his love for a girl on exchange in Europe he met once, so I guess I made the wrong choice letting Chuck walk.

Moving forward, I’ve decided to take life one boy at a time—and try not to compete with girls halfway across the world. 

*Names have been changed to protect the anonymity of students.