Love has a bad reputation for breaking hearts and causing pain, when it isn’t love that is the culprit. Love with it’s euphoric joy cannot be blamed for the pain caused by devastation.
Love, has a bad reputation for breaking hearts and causing pain. When it isn’t Love.
It isn’t Love.
Loves does not hurt.
Love does not blind.
Love does not deceive.
Love, in it’s infinite purity takes the fall – for Hope.
It’s Hope that hurts.
Hurt that blinds.
Hope that deceives.
Because hand-in-hand with Hope comes Disappointment. Disappointment is the shadow that never leaves Hope’s side. Disappointment is omnipresent. But imperceptible.
And so we Hope.
We Hope oblivious to Disappointment. Until Disappointment makes her presence known. Until Disappointment brings hurt and pain and tears. And the we blame Love. We blame Love for the hurt and pain and tears. But it isn’t the fault of Love.
All blame should be laid at the feet of Hope. It isn’t Love that breaks hearts, it’s Hope.
Hope breaks hearts.
On the couch, in the dark. The light from the television shows me the outline of your hand engulfing mine.
I think I love you.
Moulded into your side, up close, I can feel your stubbled chin on my forehead & the faint scent of your cologne makes me hazy as I try to breathe calmly.
I think I love you.
I close my eyes and lay my head on your chest. To feel your heartbeat on my cheek; slow and steady; so different from my own that pounds in unison with the fluttering of the butterfly wings in my stomach.
I think I love you.
I think I love you.
I think I love you.
I think I love you.
I say, “I love you.”
I hold my breath
As the silence grows, my heart falls. I feel you draw away. Not physically. But I feel you draw away.
I close my eyes, I apologize. “No worries” you say, but the damage is done. What have I done? Our fleeting connection, in pieces on the floor, alongside my fallen heart.
“Coffee?” you ask. You’ve drawn away, now you walk away, stomping on the shattered pieces of what was, just moments ago, “Us”, stomping on my heart.
I think I love you
I think I love you
You’ve gone & I whisper “I love you.”
And my heart begs from the floor “Please, please love me too.”
I wrote this piece a few years ago. I’m a logophile, meaning I love words. Words make sense to me and help Me make sense to Me. Whenever my emotions overwhelm me, I either speak about it, usually with my girlfriends. But more often than not, I wrote about it. I have volumes of journals chronicling my emotions and dozens of pieces. When I read my words, I gain insight into myself. It’s cheaper than an hour’s session with Dr Schmidt. *chuckles*
When you love someone, there are no half-measures about. You love them completely. When you love someone, there are no maybe’s. You love them with certainty. There are many things in life that I am not certain of. But one thing I know for sure is that I met and loved my soul mate.
God made different types of people and I believe he also made different types of souls. Just as you often get along with someone who has a similar personality to you, I believe that a soulmate is a person who has a soul similar to yours. You can find a soulmate in a friend or even family, if you’re lucky. And this is why I believe that you have more than one soul mate in the universe.
I met my soulmate when I was 16. At the time, I didn’t know that he was a soulmate. That realization would come much later, after the fact. All I knew was that I loved this man deeply, innately, without even trying. But I was never IN love with him. Being in love is merely infatuation. The butterflies, the “walking on sunshine” and tingly feelings aren’t love. It’s a superficial fascination for the object of your affection. Infatuation has its place in a romantic relationship, but it is not love.
When you love someone, you open the most intimate and private element of your being. You open up your heart. You don’t give love. You allow the other person to take it from you. You open up your heart and you allow them to reach in and take the love they need.
I met and loved my soulmate when I was 16. He met and loved me at age twenty. I took from him the love that was missing in me, the love that only same souls can give. And I let my him take from me the love he needed. We shared a deep friendship that baffled me at the time, but I reveled in it. Initially, there was no romantic intrusion. What was between us was love in its purest form.
For four years we loved each other. By opening myself up to love, I also opened myself up to me. In those four years, I learnt more about myself than I had in the sixteen years before I met him. The greatest part of this was watching him grow as person and knowing I, and the love I gave him and the love he took from me, was a major motivation for this growth. There is no feeling greater in this universe than loving and being loved in return. No words can explain it and therefore I hope, for your sake, that you find love in your lifetime and get to experience it.
I also hope, for your sake, that you never encounter the loss of love that we know as heartbreak. I did. It is an experience I have yet to fully recover from.
When you love, you give of yourself. And when you are loved, you take of someone else. But what you receive is not necessarily the same as what you give. You have to give up a part of yourself to love someone fully. What you give is not always replaced by what you receive. But it nonetheless a symbiotic relationship, love is. Only when that love tie is broken, and you’re no longer being fed what you need, do you notice that you have lost a part of yourself as well.
My soulmate and I thought our love and friendship would be a great basis for a romantic relationship. Fortunately (or unfortunately), as the saying goes; we plan, God laughs. It didn’t work, but that was okay. We went back to what we knew best. Nipped the infatuation in the bud and carried on as before. He wasn’t my God-ordained man and I wasn’t the woman for him. And that was okay.
It’s hard to explain and probably harder for outsiders to understand the dynamic of our relationship. We, who were on the inside, didn’t fully understand it either. That’s why, when he found his “her” we both knew that she’d never comprehend it, “Us”. And so without any words exchanged, we ended our friendship. And I lost a great love.
When he left, I broke to pieces. It wasn’t just my heart, it was my entire being. And even though I’ve loved again since he left, there will always be a part of my heart, my soul missing because he is walking around with that specific piece of me, in him.
When you love, you open up your heart and allow the other person to take what they need. And when you are loved you take what you might need for yourself. When you are loved by a soulmate, the love you receive feeds more than just your heart. It is type-specific to your soul, the real you and therefore feeds all of you.
When you lose that love, it is more than just heart ache. All of you, is shattered. It is something you can never recover from, unless you find another same soul to love. It explains why today, years on, it still hurts me. I am still healing. He was never my boyfriend, we were never involved. But I lost a great love of my life and all I can do is pray to God that He will send me another. Send me another love to feed my heart, feed my soul. Because the cure for a heartbreak, the only cure, is to love again.
I decided to post this piece because I recently ran into the subject. We sat down for an entire afternoon and caught up on each other’s lives, as if two years apart was nothing. After he left, and we hadn’t exchanged contact details, I realised I was okay. Truthfully, I miss carefree days of insouciance, pre-“her”, but I wasn’t hurting any more. Probably because I found someone who loves me as purely as he did. Thankfully, the Big-Guy-Upstairs sent me another soulmate who loves me & I love her deeply too. He sent me my best friend, Visoni. Not quite the “grand love” I (or I suppose you) expected, but love in its purest form nonetheless. I am a lucky girl.
I get excited about silly calendar holidays. St Patrick’s Day, Easter Friday, May Day & Christmas. When I was in school, I looked forward to them because they brought with them “civvies day” – a day where we didn’t have to wear our dreary school uniforms.
But I also love the silly traditions associated with these calendar holiday. I loved wearing all green at school on St Patrick’s day & now that I’m a little older I enjoy a little tipple with my Irish friend Siobhan down at the pub. Siobhan is only a quarter Irish & mostly Afrikaans, but on St Paddies day she drinks like a right proper Irish lass.
Wait, isn’t lass Scottish and not Irish? I can’t remember. I digress.
I love the chocolates & camaraderie (but mostly the chocolate) that comes with Easter and presents & family time (but mostly the presents) that come with Christmas. I love all of them, except Valentine’s day, but that’s another post for another.
Now, my favourite of these calendar holidays is today, February 29th. Leap Day. Not only is it a super special day, what with it only occurring every four years, it’s also a day that single young ladies wait for anxiously.
In eons past, a women proposing marriage to a man was unheard of socially taboo. In our modern society, a women proposing to a man is not quite so incroyable.Traditionally however, February 29th is the only day could legally propose to a man.
Irish Folklore has it that in the 5th century Saint Bridget complained to Saint Patrick about the fact that women had to wait for a long time for a man to propose. The sympathetic Saint Patrick (I knew I liked this guy) said the yearning females could propose on this one day in February, during the leap year. Hence the tradition was born.
And so in keeping with this tradition, the hopeless romantic that I am wanted to propose to my better half today. But alas, due to the lack of a better half, I cannot. So instead of waiting another four years, I’ve decided to extend the Leap Day tradition to the entire Leap Year.
This means that I have up until December 31st 2012 to find a suitable suitor & propose to him. Then get married. And live happily ever after.
By Brad Pike ￼
It’s difficult for me to talk about relationships and dating because it seems everyone knows more than me, and it always becomes rapidly clear as I elucidate my own flawed opinions that I don’t know anything about anything and should just shut the hell up. Nevertheless, I soldier on against the rising tide of derision like a fat dumb cow trotting earnestly into the ocean to drown.
In dealing romantically with women, there is, I am told, a complicated system of rules governing behavior. The more apparent one — do not head butt her, do not sit in a car parked outside her house all night, do not text her fifty times a day and then start screaming and then guzzle Drano — I understand. The subtler ones I tend to fail on. A signal which others would describe as “like a flashing ten-foot-tall neon sign” I overlook or misinterpret. Because of this tendency for confusion, I have an impulse to ask a lot of questions, many many questions — something which there is also a rule against because evidently asking questions does not exude “confidence” and “manliness.” I have a lot of questions like, “Are we dating now?” and “What does this mean?” and “If I kiss your face, will you flee in terror?” and “Am I acting like a clingy person, and if so, does it bother you?” All of these questions indicate a person who lacks confidence. All of these questions asked all at once consecutively indicate a person in a state of manic insecurity. This behavior also seems to stereotypically be a “girl thing” and reflects poorly on my potential as a boyfriend. (Which is why I’m writing about it on the internet. Because I’m an idiot.)
Once, after a long stretch of no communication, an ex invited me to a picnic with her new boyfriend and a few other friends. My reaction was to rant about it to anyone in the vicinity — “She’s taking advantage of how reasonable I am! She should be afraid I’ll wreak havoc at the picnic and flip over a table and claw my own eyes out!” I wrote a poem called “Fuck Your Picnic.” I integrated this event into the tragic narrative of my life set to the Road to Perdition soundtrack. Then I went to the picnic, enjoyed myself, and felt generally like a melodramatic idiot.
At the picnic was also this girl, my friend’s sister — let us proceed past this small detail without comment — who exhibited signs which seemed eerily analogous to flirting. She followed me around, seemed intent on talking to me, and later, when I asked for her phone number, she happily gave it. One of my friends even observed, “She sure seems interested in you.” This all seemed like a pretty unlikely boon from a previously cruel and hateful deity. Nevertheless, I took the pieces of this puzzle, assembled it, and — based on my interpretation of the resulting picture — I made the momentous decision to ask her out for coffee. Coffee turned into walking around campus. Walking around campus turned into driving over to her dorm room. When I asked her if she wanted me to come inside, she answered yes. All seemed to be going shockingly well. Impossibly well.
After discussing her art for a few minutes or so, I made a move to kiss her face. As my face swung toward hers, she dodged out of the way and started babbling about some ex boyfriend of hers she was still somehow involved with. I have never gone flaccid so quickly. She started crying. The air was sucked out of the room. Evidently, she had no idea this was a date. She thought I was a friendly boy who wanted to show her around town. At this point, I stood up and said something dramatic like, “I MUST LEAVE THIS FOUL DEN OF DECEIT!”
In my car outside, I stared intently at the steering wheel. I recycled the night in my mind, dissecting it for clues as to what had led me so inexorably to this moment. For one thing, she made a particularly big deal out of paying for her coffee, would not let me pay for it under any circumstances. For another, she hadn’t made any overt gestures or comments that would confirm her attraction to me or knowledge that this was a date. I also had never specifically said “date” or “I like you in a romantic type fashion,” or any other clear warnings that this would be more than a fun activity for platonic friends. Other than that… nothing! Confusion! Brief few minutes of emotional devastation! Then I moved on with my life. (Except for the whole thing where I vividly recall this incident many years later.)
But this wouldn’t be the last time I went on a “date” like this which is why I always return to it as a kind of paragon of awfulness. Experiences like this have led me to be highly suspicious of every aspect of a date. Nothing is for sure. Everything is in doubt. I need a network of experienced analysts nearby to assist me in interpreting various complicated situations, but instead I receive input like, “You fuck her yet, bro?” This is why you should never listen to me when it comes to dating — because I never know what I’m talking about.
[I had a good chuckle when I read this post by Ryan O’Connell. You can read the original post here. http://ow.ly/2bs0YY> ENJOY. Bisou. Ms Zanna ]
When you get into a relationship, you will be a lot happier? I think that’s how it works. I’m not entirely sure. You’re supposed to feel like you’ve won some implicit race—the race to monogamy and security and family vacations and cocktail parties and faded polaroids and diapers and screaming and tears and orgasms and i love you and i hate you. Yeah, I think that’s what it’s all about.
When you get into a relationship, you’re going to be a lot fatter? You’ll be eating spaghetti and meatballs every night, which will be topped with I’m In Love sauce. Every dollop of I’m In Love sauce contains 3,000 calories though. In fact, every time you tell your significant other “I love you”, you go up a waist size. I think this is okay. I think this doesn’t matter. I think if you’re going to be fat, you might as well be in love.
When you get into a relationship, you’re going to forget about all the bad things that ever happened to you? That’s what happens when you have someone. You. Just. Forget. You’re on love drugs, which causes amnesia, which causes happiness. Every moment of your life is dedicated to being present and attentive. The long stretch of time that exists ahead of you doesn’t feel so daunting. I think that’s how it works. I really don’t know, you know?
When you get into a relationship, it will fix everything? You’ll stop getting sad while watching certain movies or feeling like a piece of crap when you read Cosmopolitan. You’re invincible to it now. They can’t get to you anymore. The lambs have stopped screaming. I’m not a doctor though. Like, I’m not sure, but I’m pretty sure about all of this.
When you get into a relationship, you’re going to be hurting someone very badly someday. Because that relationship will alter at some point and it will feel like the wind has been knocked out of you. This is how it all works. This I know for certain. I know this more than the weight gain and the fixing everything and the cocktail parties and the diapers and the orgasms. This has happened to me. This has happened to you. This happens. It’s sad, I guess, but it’s also just what we have to endure as people with brains and hearts and genitalia. Getting into a relationship means getting outside of yourself and into someone else, and then finding your way back to you again. The whole process just makes you feel so…alive? Yes, that’s it. That’s what it’s all about. Feeling alive big bang boom. Bingo. Can I go now?
Perhaps the most unnecessary question ever uttered, “Why are you single?” has been tolerated by the unattached masses for far too long. You can’t understand why I’m single? Me either! It’s so funny – just last week, someone was whispering, ‘I love you’ in my ear, and now look at me. Single and reluctant to mingle! Because such a question deserves a condescending answer, here are a few for you to memorize and use at your discretion. Enjoy!
“I’m too busy with work. I mean I never planned it this way – who does? But I’ve become utterly consumed by my career. There’s nothing I’d rather do after a long, tiresome day of work than… well, work some more. For me, the satisfaction of a job well done is like getting some [especially when my paycheck arrives!]. I never have time to socialize, in fact. During my down time … well, I’m watching television and taking naps and hanging out with the same four friends I’ve been glued to for the past fifteen years. Yep, no time for a relationship here! You understand.”
“I’m shallow. Don’t take this wrong way or anything, but … my preferred sex? They can’t do anything right. I’m hard pressed to find one benefit of being in a relationship. Flippin idiots, the lot of them, and believe me I’d know. Oh, except if they’re smokin’ hot. Smokin’ hot people, such as myself, are evolved and it’d be wrong to lump them in with the rest of the worthless cretins I’m expected to be attracted to … why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m an asshole. I’m such an asshole, you know? People actively avoid dating me. Within twenty minutes of being exposed to me, people rightfully assume that my dad was too busy to toss a baseball/my mother didn’t hug me enough/I am the middle child. My distaste for literally everything is so off-putting that even people who are attracted to assholes think I’m terrible. And really, I can’t blame them – but I will, anyway.”
“I want to be single right now. Even if James Franco walked up to me right now, right this very moment, and asked me on a date, I’d refuse. You know why? Because I love being single. I LooOooOoVe it. It’s all about me right now – I don’t have to ‘check in’ with anyone and I’m not expected to watch the sun rise with a person who loves me for who I am – I don’t even have to have sex! I mean, what more could I want from life? Being single rocks!”
“I’m picky. Well, there was this one guy … we hit it off and I was just about ready to deactive my online dating profile when he… well, he coughed, you know? This retched, phlegm-ridden hack. And … need I say it? That’s a DEALBREAKER. If you can’t cough like a civilized human being, how am I supposed to introduce you to my cats? So I ended it, right then and there. Some of my friends say I’m too picky, but I’m not – I just have standards.”
“I’m a bitch. If it doesn’t affect me on a personal level, it’s irrelevant; that’s my motto. I’m just a god-awful, inconsiderate person and best of all; I’m completely transparent about it. I’m just owning it, or whatever. Those ‘good’ girls? The ones who consider other people’s feelings and are thoughtful, genuine people? They wish they could own it like me. Jealousy’s a bitch, and so am I.”
“I’m heartbroken. Sure, my last relationship ended three years ago, but I’m still healing. How can I trust again? How can I forget the betrayal, the burden of which I wear like a tattered, ill-fitting badge of honor? No – I am unable to love, damaged in unspeakable ways. Even the late Dr. Kevorkian couldn’t take away this pain.
“I don’t know. I have no idea why I’m single. It’s hard for me to have an affirmative opinion on that… on anything, really. Try me. Ask me a question, any question at all, and I’ll just sputter ‘I don’t know,’ because I refuse to say anything that may endear or repel you. Unless the answer can be Google’d, my reply will probably be an apathetic admission of spinelessness. I have no backbone, I’m bereft of opinion, I possess zero self-awareness, and I sincerely have no idea why I’m single.
Read the original post here: http://bit.ly/pr7ZaV
[This post was surprisingly insightful. For a guy’s point of view.]
I love girls and I like to surround myself with them as much as possible. I’m by no means an expert (I think I would need a vagina in order to be considered one) but I’ve learned some interesting things about them throughout the years. Warning: It sounds like I’m speaking for all women in this article (OMG, the title) but I’m actually not. I’m talking about my experiences and my women.
1. Some of them hate other girls for no apparent reason. This is the kind of girl who has a lot of guy friends and calls herself a tomboy. She claims to not have many girlfriends because she thinks they are so much drama and she only likes people who are chill. Yeah… I don’t buy it. Do you? In my experience, these kinds of girls are just super competitive and feel superior when they’re surrounded by a bunch of dudes—even if it’s platonic. This goes against the message of the groundbreaking film, Mean Girls, which is that girls need to love each other! Otherwise, they’re allowing themselves to get teared down by men. Feminism 101.
2. Overall, girls seem to pay more attention than men. They pay attention to people’s feelings, to social dynamics, to the temperature (it’s too hot, it’s too cold). They’re in tune with the things going on around them. And thank god for that because these sensitive beautiful creatures just seem to get it. My best girlfriends are the most thoughtful empathetic ladies ever. Their compassion never ceases to amaze me (and sometimes overwhelm me).
3. A lot of them don’t know how much they’re getting screwed over. They think a film like The Ugly Truth is empowering, they read He’s Just Not That Into You, and feed into the ideas that are designed to hurt them, they read Cosmo for guidance. It’s easy for me to see that these things are all horrible but that’s because I have a penis. I imagine that being a girl must make it so much harder to break away from these messages in popular culture. You’re the target audience and women are usually the ones relaying the messages, which gives you the false impression that it’s feminism or something. Hint: Feminism should never make you feel like a psycho bitch who is waiting for a boy to text her back.
4. Food is touchy. Food is a thing even if it’s not a thing, you know? You don’t have to be Karen Carpenter to say something disparaging about your body. You just have to read an issue of Vogue.
5. Throughout my life, I’ve always been drawn to the kind of energy women exude. I don’t know how to really describe it but I do know that it’s truly mesmerizing to just watch girls get dressed in the morning, apply lipstick, walk down the street, laugh, cry, dance waving their hair around wildly, get naked, go swimming. I guess this kind of admission isn’t surprising coming from a gay man. I remember studying my mom in the same way as a child. I would follow her around the house every day and watch her intently as she sprayed some perfume on her neck before she went out. I never dressed up in her clothes though. Promise.
6. Girls are tough but they’re also fragile. It’s an interesting duality. They’ll be the first person to cry over a sentimental commercial but they also endure blood coming out of their vagina once a month, childbirth and being catcalled by a construction worker. They fight small battles every day and accept it as a part of their lives. It’s funny to me that masculinity is all tied into your physical prowess. Because when it comes to dealing with the difficult things you can’t just punch in the face, men will often shut down completely and become completely weak. Living in New York City or any other metropolitan city, gender roles are obviously less defined. For $1600 a month, you can live in a Michael Cera-induced New Masculinity bubble! Outside those city limits though, things can still be very caveman and scary.
7. Here is something that I’ve found sort of interesting. In my group of girlfriends, I’ve discovered that a lot of them are attracted to women. And not in a “I kissed a girl and my boyfriend liked it” Katy Perry kind of way. Hell, they wouldn’t even classify themselves as bisexual. They just like to do things like masturbate to lesbian porn or have sex with a girl occasionally. Is that, like, a thing or are all of my girlfriends just dipped into the extrra freaky sauce?
Read the original post here: http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/7-things-ive-learned-about-girls/
Whoever said chivalry was dead must have taken a glimpse into my former dating life. I used to utter these words quite frequently. The phrase ‘chivalry is dead’ probably formulated from women, like me at the time, who claimed that the act of being a gentleman is somewhat of a lost art form. Basically, they don’t make ‘em like they used to.
The ‘ladies first’ attitude that requires women to be treated how a man would want his mother to be treated, in many instances has been replaced with just the opposite. For whatever reason, some men have adopted an attitude that doesn’t include treating a lady like a lady. Who’s to blame for the lack of gentleman? I’m not certain; but I am certain of one thing: once a woman dates a true gentleman, it’s hard to accept anything less than the treatment you received while with him.
So although, they may not make ‘em like they used to, there are still some gentleman out there who pride themselves on being such.
So what are the traits of a gentleman?
A Gentleman Opens Doors
Opening doors for a woman is one of the most common traits associated with being a gentleman. A gentleman understands that this simple gesture is like an unwritten rule; and honestly is it really that difficult to just open a door and allow a woman to go first?
A Gentleman Pulls Out Chairs
I will be the first to admit that a man doesn’t necessarily have to pull out a chair for me if we’re going out to dinner. While it’s definitely a nice gentlemanly gesture, it’s one of those things that’s just not a deal breaker for me. However, it’s still a trait of a gentleman; and if you find a man who does, that’s a plus.
A Gentleman Understands ‘Ladies First’
Imagine this. You’re out on a date at a nice restaurant. You’re wowed by the place that your date has chosen. The waiter comes and it’s time to take your order. Your date, with no hesitation, proceeds to order before you. Are you turned off? Some women are, others aren’t; but a gentleman knows that ladies go first.
A Gentleman Gives Compliments (With No Sex Involved)
Every woman deserves to be complimented. A gentleman understands this and is man enough to compliment a woman when he deems appropriate. And guess what? His compliment isn’t always to get you to come out of your clothes; although I’m sure he wouldn’t mind that either. The point is, a gentleman likes to see a woman smile and a compliment is an easy way to create a smile.
A Gentleman Romances Not Rushes
Regular guys want everything fast. They want your number with the first sentence spoken. They want a date confirmation the same day of meeting you, and then after the date they want sex immediately. While a gentleman may want these things (he’s still a man), he understands the importance of romancing and not rushing. How about speaking and sparking a conversation before asking for a number? Or talking on the phone (not texting) before going out on a date, and understanding that at least a kiss comes before sex. Simply put, a gentleman understands that romancing a woman should still be a requirement.
A Gentleman Listens
Most women who have been dating for at least a few years get it by now, men don’t particularly love to talk and have long drawn out conversations. However most of us do. Although a gentleman may not want to indulge in long conversations about why you can’t stand your boss, why you feel you need to lose weight, or other things that we can spend hours conversing about, he still listens (unless the game is on); and most importantly he surprises you when you least expect it with details from something you’ve previously said
A Gentleman Walks You to Your Car
Walking a woman to her car is one of those other traits that is commonly associated with being a gentleman. After all, what man doesn’t want to ensure that you get to your car or in your house safely? Men are expected to be protectors. His manly instinct should always kick in to ensure that you are safe while with him and after leaving him.
What do you think? Is the act of being a gentleman a lost art form in our culture? Do we, as women, require, or even expect, the men we date to be gentleman?
Read the original post at http://madamenoire.com/53100/what-to-expect-from-a-gentleman/
We all know I love my ladies. They keep me sane! Which, is like the blind leading the blind really … and actually explains a lot about my mental state …
… but that’s another blog post for another day.
Where was I? …. Oh yes. I love my ladies. They are amazing. But my Best Man? He gives me perspective and logic that my oestrogen filled, overly-emotional female self can never think of on my own. I’m talking about Michael. He’s the only guy, outside my family, whom I allow to call me Suzy. And he’s the only guy, outside my family, who can tell me I’m getting fat without subsequently losing the ability to one day have children.
I picked his brain the other day, and this is the gist of our conversation.
We were having lunch and also eavesdropping on the other conversations around us. It’s wrong, I know, I know! But when you hear, “I’m not his Concubine! He can’t expect sex on tap and then not call me the next day” you can’t resist. I mean, who uses the word “concubine” anymore?
Michael looked me in the eye and said, “Suzy, I hope you’re not as dumb as her. You can’t be a Wifey if you act like a Concubine.”
You’d think I’d get it, but I’m female. It’s not just black and white, there’s a million shades of grey.
Zanna: “I thought men wanted a lady in the street but a freak in the bed?” (Yes, I use embarrassing hip hop clichés when I talk. Sue me)
Michael: “That’s true. But make him earn the freak inside of you, the guy has to work for it.”
Zanna: “But what if he doesn’t want to work for it. What if he gets bored and decides to leaves.”
Michael: “Then good riddance to bad rubbish Suzy. Show him the door.”
Zanna: “But if I really like him and want him to stick around?”
Michael: “Then you have to settle for being just a Concubine, you’ll never be his Wifey.”
Zanna: “Can’t I be both. You want your Wifey to be bad in bed?”
Michael: *sighs in frustration* “If you get something free the first time, you don’t expect to pay for it in the future. If he sees your freaky side first then he figures he can treat you like his Concubine, he won’t have to work for it in future. It’s free. If he sees your Wifey potential first, he has to treat you like gold to earn the Concubine benefits that will come. It’s not rocket science Suzy! Are you having pizza or pasta?”
And just like that, case closed. If you want to be Wifey, conduct yourself like one. If you act like a Concubine, he will treat like a Concubine. Simple as that.
In case you were wondering, I ordered the pizza. Hawaiian actually.