Please. Yes you can. And if you can't, is really that bad?

I did my fair share of working in food service. I’ve actually pooed the bed from being force-fed from my training at Texas Roadhouse. Holy mother of sodium… My poor roommate… I hardly knew her… what were we…?

Yes, I worked food service quite a bit through college, and a bit after.

I came across the attractive waitresses who would “have” to wear a fake wedding ring just so they could do their job and not get hit on so much.

Eye roll.

I’m not saying that doesn’t happen. I’m sure they got hit on plenty. And I know what it’s like to be a little creeped out by a customer. Like, the lady at Texas Roadhouse who would always ask for the “cute short brunette” (me) whenever she came in, and then gave me her address and said I could stay with her whenever it snowed in Idaho Falls. She’d playfully graze my arm and laugh way too hard at my go-to, what-I-tell-every-table jokes.  

So yeah, I get it. It can be kind of scary. (Even then, duh, I was flattered.) But is it really that bad?

I’ve had a ring on my finger for five months now, and I’ll admit, I miss the occasional dude winking at me. And I mean that in a strictly vain way. I only want Gunnar—duh, but yeah, it’d be cool to know I still got it.

Some feminists might read this and say, “Your worth is more than what men think of you!” To those women, I cross my eyes and say, “K….”

— In all seriousness, my self worth does come from a man, and that’s my Father in Heaven, but that’s a little deeper than I care to go today—

I feel like there are two types of girls in this world:

There’s the girl who gets asked out by a total stranger in the school library.  She either accepts or declines, it doesn’t matter which really, and then she turns to her friends and mouths with horror on her face, “Creeper.”

Then there’s the other girl, in the same situation, with the same boy, same scenario. And she turns to her friend and says, “Gosh, that takes a lot of courage.” And she then thinks in her head, “I do have pretty blue eyes.”

See the distinction? It does take courage for a boy to approach a girl.

Granted, I haven’t really lived in the real world where guys are sometimes aggressive, ask to take you home and comment on your body, and yikes. I can only imagine.

I’m strictly talking about men, boys—whoever, who are friendly, or who ask for a girl’s number appropriately. How is this offensive? Is that really so annoying that a person finds you attractive/ interesting enough to ask out? Is it necessary to post things like, “So sick of getting hit on.”

I don’t understand you.

How hard is, ”Thank you, but I’m not interested?” Then, feed that ego, and wear that shirt and skirt combo a different day, because obviously it’s working for you.

All I'm saying is at the end of the day, I’ll be the girl who gets her confidence boosted by the occasional courageous stranger and a hot husband.

Adventures have slightly altered in the life of Sarah. No more un-wanted hip thrusts from first dates, no more “Boy with the Dragon Tattoo” lineups, no more boys I hardly know thinking it’s a good idea to bite my ear, etc.

I have found that my odd dating encounters defined me a little bit. But don’t worry. I still find ways to put myself in uncomfortable situations that make you want to squeeze your legs together. So maybe, that is what defines me. No one knows. But…

I think most girls get married for three reasons:

Right? I’m actually not even that girly. I don’t scream—I yell like an 11-year-old boy, OK? And not the 11-year-old boy who screams like a girl. Like a boy. And I often just “shoe” away insects so they don’t die. I’m considerate.

I usually keep my cool around tiny creatures, and am fairly rational when it comes to small animals.

And then, there’s brown recluse spiders.

Yeah, no. Nopeeee. No.

I came home from work a couple weeks ago, probably singing “Teenage Dream,” at mute volumes, when I come to the stairs leading to my apartment. And there, on the side of the bottom stair was a fist-sized spider.

Singing, “You think I’m funny, when I tell the punch li—Oh my GOSH!” And I sprinted up the stairs to my apartment, and locked it—Duh. No spiders crawl through a locked door.

That was when I texted my husband for the 27th time in a row without a response that day (I swear he likes me, he’s just “busy”) saying, “Hi, there’s a brown recluse spider on the bottom floor and I need you to come home and kill it.”

No response. Weird.

So then I texted my mom, because you know, I’m actually shocked I didn’t text her first.

Sarah: Is it my responsibility to kill a brown recluse on the bottom floor of the apartment complex if I saw it?

Mother Reid: Yes.

Sarah: NO I’M TOO SCARED WHY DO I HAVE TO?

So. I did what any other brave girl would do on a 90 degree Wednesday afternoon. I put on my rain boots and raincoat and grabbed an IKEA magazine to kill the sucker. Ha, I would show him…

I tiptoed down one flight of stairs, and stood petrified before walking down the extra flight where I knew the spider was. Yeah, I wasn’t going down those stairs any time soon. Decided to ninja-jump on the side instead of going down those stairs. Good solution— don’t even pretend it’s not.

At this point I’m feeling pretty budass, until I turn the corner and see the spider. The size of my hand. Kill me with the spoon. Why am I responsible for this?? So I took a deep breath. Put my hood on. Put my sleeves around my hands. Held up the rolled up magazine…

And with my back to the wall, I reached to my left, turned my knuckles to a door, and knocked. I knocked on my neighbor’s door. Definitely not turning my back on the spider, where he could easily attack. No way.

No answer.

Fine. I took a deep breath. Faced the spider. 1…2…3…

And knocked on the neighbors’ door just next to the first. I’m looking for a grownup (OK, fine, man) to kill this thing. No answer. I’m about to cry. Naturally. I’m so hot, in my raincoat and conversation boots. This is what I will die in.

Then the door opened from the initial door I knocked on. It was a girl. In a purple bathrobe.

I started talking.

“Hi, Sorry, I’m your neighbor, and there’s a scary spider right across from your apartment, and I’m about to kill it, but before I do, I’m wondering, is your husband home, and does he want to kill it?”

Looking back, she’s in a bathrobe. And if her husband’s home, he’s probably also in a bathrobe... or not in a bathrobe… I could have been interrupting…

“No he’s not…”

Eff word. Or phew?

“OK, yeah, no it’s fine. I got this. I mean, haaa, I’m dressed like I got this. So I’ll just be… I’ll kill it.”

“I’ll get a shoe,” said the girl wearing zero battle gear.

“No it’s fine, I got it!” And I stood there. Absolutely not moving. At all. Just staring, my eyes the size of grapes, at the most terrifying animal I’ve ever seen not on a television or computer screen.

She came back, with her husbands shoe in her hand. “No, I really can, you’re only wearing a bathrobe! I’m sorry I’ll do this!”

And I stood there, not moving.

And then she went over to the spider and killed it. But really, I supervised and had my phone in hand in case we needed to call the authorities. So.

Anyway, now she’s my visiting teaching companion. And it’s hard to tell who is really more embarrassed. The girl in the bathrobe, or the girl in the rain boots. But I personally know who should be more embarrassed.

Who buys a purple bathrobe?

1. “It happens.”

Rape happens. Cancer happens. The Taliban happens. Crocs happen. DOESN’T MAKE THESE THINGS OK.

 2. “Let’s not and say we did.”

Cool, thanks for curb stomping me with your words. This was the ‘90’s biggest mistake.

3. “Sunday Funday”

Just because it rhymes, doesn’t mean it’s cool and doesn’t mean it makes sense.

4. “I’m over it.”

Yeah, no, me too, and I totally believe you.

5. “Clean Eating”

I’m pretty sure anything north of Mexico and west of Latvia is clean eating. I’m way more likely to double-tap your picture if the hashtag says #eatinghealthy or #imbetterthanyoubecauseofhowhealthythismealis #youshouldbeashamedofwhatyoufeedyourhusband.

6. “That’s awkward.”

The most efficient way to drop the IQ of any conversation. Now this is awkward. 

Also what is with this generation's obsession with being uncomfortable? I don't know about you, but when I converse, the objective is to end the conversation without offending the person or without having one of the simultaneous-talking-at-the-same-time-then-stopping- "Uh-Uh- No, you go-- wait, ha- uh?" It isn't funny. It's a catalyst for a heat flash.  

7. “No regrets.”

Meh… I’m skeptical that this philosophy is a good idea. It sounds like a really good way to make the same mistake over and over again.

8. “Sorry not sorry”

I've heard two-year-olds tell better apologies. Honestly, what a waste of white space on the social media-sphere. 

I cringe when I hear this expression: “There are no good guys out there.”

Now, anyone that knows my fiancé might say, “Easy for you to say.” But really, Gunnar aside.

This thought was triggered last night. Yesterday, I felt pretty dang sick, and Gunnar was out of town. This is fine, but I wanted a priesthood blessing and had to outsource to home teachers.

When I called my home teachers, they were a ways away and said they could give me one in an hour or so, but, being a grandma, I was kind of hoping I could go to bed ASAP. So I said I would call around, and if no one could, I’d love if they gave me one a bit later.

My home teacher then said he would call men for me and find someone to come over as soon as they could. He also said if someone didn’t come to my door in 20 minutes, to give him a call.

Within minutes, two boys were at my door from my ward to give me a priesthood blessing.

They were also wearing matching outfits. Unplanned. It was hilarious and made me feel awesome right away.

I was so touched by the action of these four guys. They all know I’m engaged, and they all have no interest in me romantically. They are honest-to-goodness, great men, with a willingness to serve, with the desire to receive nothing in return.

In several classes, I heard girls say, “Why is it so hard to find a good guy?” I heard this especially in institute classes and classes at BYUI. I feel like dating and some religion courses occasionally presented opportunities to bash on the other gender. No bueno.

To those girls I say, “It’s not that hard to find a good guy.”

Now, finding a guy that is a good man, priesthood holder, attractive, funny, hard-working, good with money, good with kids and any other miscellaneous attributes you might request—that. That is where it is tricky.

Categorizing men is not fair. I do recognize I have a dad that treated me with utmost respect growing up. My brothers hadn’t teased me outrageously to the point of low self-esteem and would usually indulge me whenever I asked if I was pretty. Or rather, “Eyes pity?” So maybe, my measuring stick is off.

However, the boys I dated have ranged in personalities and strengths, and I have to say, that although there are some exceptions—some whose only purpose was to give me a good story to tell or humble me— most of them were rather exceptional people.

I’m marrying up. I am, and I’m fine with it. But, if Gunnar were to cease to exist, my hope for men wouldn’t. Without Gunnar, my world would crumble. I would phase between eating everything and eating nothing. I’d cry myself to sleep for months. It would be HARD, if not, seemingly impossible to recover from.

But. But…. I know I would be OK. I would be OK because, perhaps not romantically speaking, but platonically speaking, I could receive the help I needed from good men around me.

I’m a liberalist. To me, “People are inherently good.” I will always stand by that. But today, especially, I want my future daughters, my current friends, my nieces, to know that there are good, great men in this world who want to treat women well.

Girls need this reminder: Who you spend time with is your choice.

And yup, there are losers everywhere. 

I feel badly for the girl who continually hangs out with boys, who worship their bodies, watch poor media that degrades women and don’t buy her meals.  And then she wonders why “there aren’t any good guys out there.”

I feel for the girl who spends time with boys who talk filthy and are insensitive to her feelings. She wastes her time with someones who can’t be bothered to know anything about her family, where she’s from or her aspirations. She does these things and complains, whines or rants that there aren’t decent men in this world.

I hurt for the girl who continually attends activities with poor lighting, music without lyrical or musical foundation and finds disappointment when she sees what the boy she grinded with the night before actually looks like when she adds him on Facebook. Or when she finds out that all he’s interested in is “hanging out,” her booty, the gym or her roommate.

How is this shocking, again?

To these girls, I say this:

Pay attention to boys who open your door. Pay attention to boys who cannot only just give a good comment in Sunday school and are charismatic, but also pay attention to boys who put those comments into action.

Put yourself in situations that entice men who see women as Daughters of God. Go out with boys who buy you food. It’s not shallow or selfish. You will return the favor with countless meals you prepare for your future spouse and family. 

And if you find yourself thinking, “There is no one good out there,” ask yourself what you really want. Because he is out there. They are out there. Praying for you, waiting to love you, if you just put yourself in the right situation, and give those several decent boys a chance.

And one of them will be decent and have almost everything else on your checklist.

I promise.