To Be, or Not to Be
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of an imaginative mind must be in want of a good wife.
“Things I’d like in a girl,” Jeremy wrote down in his notepad, as he dwelled into the question, which I really had no interest in.
To imagine the statistical probability of meeting the one meant for you, if there is such a thing, is almost an inverse googolplex, I thought to myself.  As the number googol was a rather large number, one with a hundred zeros following to be exact, the inverse of this rather large number would be rather close to zero.
You see, the mathematical definition of ‘probability’ is the occurrence of a ‘match’ divided by the number of potential possibilities.  Given that the population of English-speaking countries (USA, UK, Canada, Australia, Ireland, New Zealand, India, Philippines, and South Africa) is at any one time 1.4 billion (and growing), because the typical ratio of male to female is approximately 1.06, the world population of women is approximately 680 million.  Given a male would target females with a standard deviation of age five years older or younger; this would refer to a range of the female population within a range of 10 years.  Assuming that at any one time 15% of the population will be within this age range, the concatenated population still equals a whopping 100 million.  As an example of a comparison, the probability of winning a lottery is usually around one to 65 million.  In other words, finding ‘the one’ is potentially twice as hard as winning the lottery.
To find just one girl to spend the remaining forty to eighty years of a boy’s life at the mere age of twenty is just an unbelievable idea, but yet something that the market performs to do, nearly just as effectively as the job market.
Despite there are more men than women, I thought, it is so much more difficult for a girl to find a good boy, than vice versa.
Anyway, it is unanimously agreed in statistics that a sample size of root (two) of the population, can be considered representative of the population.  Although only a sample size of 10,000 English-speaking teenage girls is required, this is still maybe a more difficult investigation to complete as first thought.
Have you noticed however, that even if, a thousand girls had passed one by, maybe only a dozen or so have the “it” factor?  Maybe then, jotting down the attributions of girls I liked, I could find common traits I liked.
“Kiera Knightly,” Jeremy said.
“Super anorexic with no personality?”  I remarked.
“Awesome British accent and skinny”
Boys certainly overrate dating Ms Knightly.  Her personality, I had seen from many movies, was rather unsatisfying.  However, maybe this was their imagination, capable of the concoction of the shopping for selective genetic features.
“Cameron Diaz, perfect smile and funny.”
More like slutty.  Despite Ms Diaz had an unbelievably cool smile, a overly dazzling personality that would keep boys laughing for hours, it wasn’t too long ago that she released a semi-nude porn.  Maybe the idea would be a girl like that would even replace cable.
“Anne Hathaway, dark straight hair.”
“What about Sophie?”  I asked.
You see, Sophie Winzar was Jeremy’s best friend, who sported blonde hair.
“There’s something I just like about the slutty bad girl look for dark brunette hair,” he replied.
He had explained it to me before.  Being brunette myself, I found the remark offensive when he first told me.  But he explained it was not a slut in actuality, but those who dress and pretend to be like it.
In fact, I remembered when Jeremy made the remark to an Uncle at Church who worked as the Marketing Manager at the Walt Disney Company, who told him his wife overheard the conversation, and wanted to give Jeremy a good slap.
“Leeza Beytell, dark tanned skin, says what she believes.”
“Sophie Winzar”, he finally finished with.
As Jeremy’s best friend, I thought he would probably include her.
He told me the back-story nearly a million times.  He must have the memory span of a fish, five seconds, or so, because he repeats himself quite a bit.
Anyway, he was friends with this young lass initially because he thought she was rather ‘hot’ (whatever that means), but then he meets another girl, and talks to this girl he used to like (but no longer do) about the new girl that he now likes.  Then later they act as if they never had thoughts of each other, but both of you deep down have that awkward moment between each other?
He actually liked her for many reasons, if not simply for the fact that they get along like magic.  Maybe there is this unspoken law where one gets along with one’s friend only because they find some of her attributes most important in a potential partner.
“Jeremy,” I then thought, “can’t shut up, hyperactive, imaginative, energetic, and crazy”.
Back to Sophie, she was a bit of a klutz, pretty nice and positive, but I knew most important of all to him, Godly.
Jeremy made it a tradition to talk about his Sophie story as often as possible.  It was in the computer room at school.  He was ultra-hyperactive that day and decided that he wanted to get girl attention.  I think it must be some sort of social interaction between groups of young boys, where the boys have some sort of untold of competition to grab the attention of the girl.  Apparently, he was far too embarrassed just to go up and talk to Sophie randomly, so he ditched a pencil from one side of the room to the other.  Ducking immediately down, he almost expected her to come over to my side of the room shortly thereafter to complain of the dangerousness of his actions.  This never resulted, however.  Later asking her what she thought about it, she actually told me she never knew of it.
Thinking that she knew he threw a pencil and ignored it, he talked to my friends about how amazingly hot she was (though he never actually saw her face; only saw the back of her head).
As she was leaving the room, he said a quick “bye” and she responded with “bye” as well.
As random as it would seem, she came back bursting into the room thirty seconds later, came up to his computer, and asked him if I knew where “Queen Victoria Hospital” was.
Discovering they were later in similar classes, he was from then forth friends.