Molly Montana

My sophomore year at BYU was horrible. One of the reasons was, I shared a room with a delightful person who just could not say no. When asked if the neighbor from downstairs could use her computer, Heidi, my roommate, begrudgingly said, "ok." That's fine. But all of a sudden, this down stairs neighbor was up every day, for three hours, no exaggeration, typing away at an LDS singles website where she had found love. Great for her, lousy for Heidi and me. (This lasted for only two weeks, the girl finally got her computer back from being repaired.)

The majority of my knowledge of Montana comes from either the book or film version of A River Runs Through It. And I should say, I liked the book, and loved the movie. (Norman Maclean, no offense, but I need Bob Redford & Brad Pitt to use the word "love") I've driven through Montana a few times, but have never spent any real length of time there. It is a beautiful place, but kind of like "How I Met your Mother" or Michael Kors, I can appreciate how other people like it, but it is just not for me.

There is a family that goes to my father's church that I used to know. The mother has been switched out for a new one, one I may have been introduced to once, but I don't think so. I was recently informed that she (being this new mother, who I don't know) thinks I need to be set up. With a dentist. Who lives in Missoula, Montana. I'm sure this dentist is a nice fellow, and could hook me up with replacement Sonicare heads for life, but, thanks, but no thanks. (And by that first "thanks" I mean, please never suggest such a ridiculous idea to me again.)

Why do I bring up these seemingly unrelated anecdotes? I'll tell you. If I were the type of girl who actually trusted the opinion of a stranger on matters of potential relationships, I would probably end up like my neighbor from down stairs. Typing away at the computer for hours on end, then meeting the person in real life, discovering he's an inch shorter than me, but marrying him anyway, and then ending up working at Honey Baked Ham. (And yes, this is what happened to this girl.) (And no, she did not give me extra punches on my honey baked ham sandwich card. Bitch!)