Once upon a time, there lived an attractive, intelligent and innocent young girl. This was no ordinary lass - she was as wise as she was fair; and her good sense seemed to keep her heart from falling prey to the grand gestures favoured by the male species of her time. Yes, she was the exception to the rule. This young woman knew how the story usually panned out: A not-so-ugly boy (in pants that were way too tight) would confess his undying lust for the foolish lass, commonly followed by the classic wooing technique - he would rip out a weed or two from the neighbour’s garden, and pass them off as symbols of his love and commitment. The Mr Darcy wannabe would proceed to shred her ego and cardiac system into a million minute pieces. The end.
Okay, so the dreamy Disney tale might not go this way, but life has a way of taking a not-so-fun detour every now and then. Boys are usually too much work, too hard to maintain, and sadly our brain cells don’t always seem to filter through the heart-breakers. Today's typical 20-something will most likely refrain from getting her palm felt up, preferring a weekly rendezvous session with a close pal.
I blame dear old liquid confidence for creating the illusion that ‘friends with benefits’ will work, and that you will still be friends once the spark has died (or at least until that bottle of vodka has reached its end). We seem to have made the transition from faux love letters proclaiming our undying love for the boy-next-door, to drunken scribbles declaring “Call me maybe” across a paper towel. Most of this 'hoo-ha' can be attributed to the fact that our fears have started to outweigh any ounce of left-over romance that we might have had from the era of “Nobody puts Baby in the corner”.
Have we abandoned all delusions of romance in favour of something a little less painful, and a whole lot safer? Love. Amore. Liebe. A language of Cupid’s arrows, lust and throbbing hearts. Sure, it has its benefits. An infamous number of car doors and heart-shaped candy boxes have been bought under the presumption of ‘I got you babe’. Why would any sane female leave all these perks behind, and favour a pseudo-corpse who will be out that door before the drool from your mouth has barely dried? The textbook answer seems to be that we are scared. Frightened. In fact, we are downright terrified of caring about someone who might not feel the same.
Most women need to have the upper hand in a relationship, which usually results in the desire to ‘leave before we are left’. Unrequited adoration has haunted the feminine mind for eons, and frequently forces us to play the dating game far too casually. The roles have reversed; we have absorbed every single rule that rom-coms have taught us: Be the exception and NOT the rule. How?
Play it dirty. Mess with his psyche. Don’t call him back. Don’t fall for his one-liners AND never, ever leave your toothbrush at his place!
The gloomy part of all of this is that we may one day say NO to someone who is so obviously a YES. So, my dear feminists, I urge you to think twice before you pretend to not care about that dear boy who wants to wine, dine and cuddle the life out of you. He might actually like you - and you might be more than just a game to him.
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