Why am I willing to acquiesce to a man’s fantasy’s with only a sliver of a shot at his being worth my energy? I will cook for him though I rarely cook for myself; clean my house from top to bottom, though I barely have time to sleep; subscribe to the many versions of ESPN, though before we met I didn’t even own a TV.
Does that reek of desperation or youthful ignorance or am I simply fulfilling my womanly duties? It’s all worth it if it “works out” right? I console myself thinking, did I really want to give up this potential husband just b/c I’m not a chef? I should eat healthy anyway…and then the cooking lessons ensue. In six months, I’ll have been accepted at the Sorbonne and he’ll be microwaving with some princess in a distant villa of glamour. My fingers will have burn scars from the oven.
Why don’t men see a woman with a few flaws and think, “She’s a catch, lemme ‘by-any-means-necessary’ my ass into her life before someone puts a ring on it,”? Women do that, or at least I do. I look for the “at least” and cling onto it until my legs get numb.
No solace removes the sting of rejection when the man you matrix’d your back for to fit into his narrow fantasy evolves into the loser, or worse, “that nigga!”
When you start referring to him as, “that nigga,” all those desperate distortions you concocted curdle. How dreadful!
Would this circumstance be defined as a self-esteem issue? I know too many women, myself included, who commit this sin. It’s not necessarily changing for a man, but a “but, wait!!!” coercive tactic.
You know, like when in the infomercials, they sell you this do-hicky that magically trims ur ends, sratches your back and massages your feet for the low,low price of $9.99, “BUT WAIT!!!” if you act now they’ll throw in three vibrators and an errand boy for the cost of shipping and handling? Yea. It’s my “BUT WAIT!!!” saleswomanship that snaps me into these Stepford trances and I turn into the tri-athlete who cooks, cleans and spirals a football better than Brady.
Who am I kidding? On a good day, I’ll inhale a stack of Ritz crackers and a can of cranberry sauce for dinner, buy new panties rather than wash clothes and haven’t touched sports since the bowling ball cracked my French tips. Can’t I just be smart and really sarcastic? Will someone see the value in that or must I entertain these charades for the next few disasters?
KEEP BUYING THOSE PANTIES!!
I’ve done the panties thing so many times, I got enough to last me months. And I pulled a muscle playing Wii the other day. Thats how I am. And you are how you are. I think you should keep it that way.