When I broke my ankle two months ago, I was convinced I wouldn’t be missing out on too much. I would still go to work and frequent all my favourite pubs. The only differences I foresaw was that I would have to constantly look for elevators  and I’d have to put away my heels for a while. Although that thought breaks my heart, I knew I’d be able to cope.

My friend, Andrea, was certain I’d be able to pick up more guys in this condition.

“It’ll be a conversation starter,” she said, smiling ear-to-ear.

I had to give her a reality check: “Andrea. No guy is going to look at us walking down the street and whisper to his buddy, ‘Damn, those crutches are hot!'”

And although that has yet to happen, Andrea was right. It has definitely been a conversation starter.

My first outing after my break was to meet some friends for a coffee. In an attempt to avoid expensive cab rides, I ventured out to the subway.

As I sat with my casted leg elevated I noticed a young guy staring at me.  Fine, I get that there’s not many girls on crutches bombing around town, but was my wounded leg turning him on?

As my stop approached, I hobbled over to the doors. He, too, gets up and stands beside me. He tucks his frizzy, long hair behind his ear and readjusts his glasses. “Your crutches are beautiful… almost as beautiful as your eyes.”

Keep in mind my crutches are grimy. And gross. And made of aluminum.

I look at him, ready to laugh, but his eyes are wide and he’s smiling genuinely. Really? How can anyone SERIOUSLY try to pick up a girl that way?

“Thank you,” I say as the doors open and I crutch out. He starts to follow me. There’s no way to lose this guy in the crowd of people. My crutches clanked on the subway platform as I moved slowly along the side closest to the wall. As I enter the elevator, he jumps in with me. The doors close. Dear Lord.

“Do you need any help? I can help you!” he says. Although I think he was too genuine for his own good, it came across as slightly creepy and I felt trapped.  “I’m okay,” I said as the elevator doors open. He slowed his pace to keep walking beside me. “I’d like to take you out for a coffee sometime,” he said. I had to resort to the token getaway response: “Well, I’m just going to visit my boyfriend at his body building studio. Sorry!”

I scampered away as fast as I could  to meet my imaginary boyfriend, who I decided to name Arnold.

From that moment on, Arnold came in handy. For instance, when the scruffy, old man with a grumbly voice said that I look like a “strong girl who is going to heal real nice,” (followed with a wink), I immediately told him that Arnold would agree! Or when some drunk put his arm around me as I was crutching down the street, he was promptly informed that Arnold hated it when other men did that.

I was ready to call it quits with Arnold when a cute guy approached me at my favourite pub. But in the nick of time, my Arnold anecdote saved me when the cutie grabbed my cast with both hands, shook it and said, “WHAT HAPPENED?!”

But how long can an imaginary boyfriend save the day?

And with that, I decided it was time. Yes, time to try a dating method where male attention isn’t just about fawning over my crutch. You guessed it. I just signed up for online dating. TO BE CONTINUED…

~ Amanda Cupido