This is a story about a truth universally acknowledged. No, not that truth… this one:
A single man in possession of [honesty, resilience, and tact will find] a wife.
(Or at least in Utah)
It sounds simple enough, right? What makes such a simple statement difficult for a person to understand? When I hear a man utter the statement “I just don’t understand girls” my mind immediately wonders what kind of situations the speaker has been put in… better yet, which ones he’s put himself in. It is amazing to me that even after however many years of males and females coexisting , men constantly try to appear victimized. Why is this? Is it because of the big, bad woman? Is our luscious femininity to blame? Do we automatically make the opposite species fawn over us without even trying? Is it my fault you can’t figure out the proper way to treat a girl? My fault for slipping through your fingers? Should I be held responsible when you label me ‘the one who got away’?
It was a Friday night. It was the day after Thanksgiving, and I had spent my holiday with relatives, out of state. I was on an air mattress, pondering the movie I had just seen. It was a thought-provoking movie, and I always seem to dwell on those a little bit more than the average blockbuster. I thought it might be interesting to send a text to one of my friends—one who I knew would appreciate the conversation. We had been chatting back and forth via text message for an hour or so when I drifted softly into slumber land. I woke the next day to his final text message, one telling me to let him know when I got back into town because he had a question for me. Thinking it was weird that he wouldn’t just ask me there, I forgot about it only minutes later.
When I returned home, I got back in the swing of things. I started school again, which was rough on my immune system. I had developed a nasty cold the following week, figuring it was a result of my multitudinous holiday travels.
As Monday turned to Tuesday and so forth, I braved the freeway that Friday night. I decided that I would nurse my sick, aching body back to health at my parent’s house. As I came into Salt Lake, my cell phone rang. It was the boy I’d texted Friday night. Seeing the name on the screen was rather peculiar, considering we’d never had an actual phone conversation before, but I picked it up, anyway.
“Hello?” My voice was weak and scratchy.
“Hi…” he said.
“Hey, how are you?” I asked.
“I’m well.” It was silent for a few moments. I wondered if he had ever had spoken on the phone before. He seemed not to grasp the concept of engaging in conversation, or at least participating in one that he started.
“Good!” I exclaimed, “Can I help you with something?”
“Yeah. Are you in town tonight?”
“I’m not, actually. I’m pretty unwell, so I’m headed back to my parents’ house as we speak.”
“ARE YOU DRIVING RIGHT NOW?” he inquired.
“Yes…?”
“Oh, I am so sorry. Really, I am. I didn’t mean to call you during a time that you were driving. I will call back on Monday when you get home. I still need to ask you that question that I told you I was going to ask when I spoke with you last week.”
Light bulb.
“Alright, sounds good. Talk to you then.”
Click.
The weekend passed without a hitch. Miraculously, my health returned. Monday night came, and as I was catching up on some homework, my cell phone began its familiar buzz. Seeing his name, I laughed, remembering the peculiar conversation we’d had a few days before, and then, I answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi.” Obviously, my silent judgment taught him nothing about phone call expectations.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Well, I need to ask you that thing I have been trying to ask you,” he swallowed, audibly, “ and I’ve been wondering for a long time why I've never hung out with you before. I’ve tried to kick the thought, but it hasn’t been working, and…” (Probably pay close attention to this part) “I’m not saying that it’s the spirit pushing me to do this, but, Do you think that maybe sometime this week, we could go out?”
With my mouth agape, I tried to look at things from his point of view, and had a pre-answer conversation in my mind.
Tell him that it wasn’t the spirit.
No, don’t.
But… it wasn’t…
Doesn’t matter. Say yes to the poor soul.
“Well, what did you have in mind?”
“I thought we could go see that movie, maybe. Would you want to do that?”
“Sure! I’d love to.”
The phone call continued another ten minutes. He put me on speaker phone, assuring me that no one was in the room to hear me speaking, though the thought of our conversation being so intimate and private had no place in my mind at all. I heard him flip calendar pages, trying to find a place for me in his week, and in all of that silence, couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t made a plan in the first place. Wasn’t that what you did when you asked someone out? Weren’t you supposed to say, “Hey. Movies. Friday night. 7:30. Come.” And then, if the person couldn’t, you just hung up and tried someone else? All of these thoughts interrupted by…
“Would Thursday work? If not, I’m not offended. You don’t have to go with me.”
“Thursday works.”
“No, really, I understand if you’re up to your waist in school work. It is the last week of the semester. I don’t want to step on your toes.” Not really the right use of the phrase, but I let it slide. I was pretty piled up with homework, but decided I should say yes, anyway. I was never the type to turn down anyone.
“Thursday, it is.”
“Really, you don’t have to come.” At this point, I questioned whether or not he wanted to go out at all. “Also, if you want me to make you dinner, let me know. I could do that. I know you don’t cook. So, I could feed you before the movie starts, if you’re hungry.”
Such an awkward question… statement… which part of speech was that, even?
“How about you decide, and let me know.”
“Okay. Sounds good. See you then—Oh, wait! One more thing. The last thing I was going to ask you was whether or not you were feeling better. Can I bring you anything? Medicine? Kleenex? Gatorade?” While it was a very sweet gesture, I was, in fact, feeling much better, and was in no need of his services.
“No, I’m okay. I’m not sick anymore. Thanks, though. That’s very nice of you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Uh…
“Okay, well…”
“I can hear your coughing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. Have a good night!” About an hour later, this Facebook update showed up on my screen. Word to the wise, when the Facebook status bar asks what you’re thinking, telling the entire truth is not required. In fact, I would discourage doing so.
Thursday came, and, even more so than on Monday, I was drowning in homework. I’d said no to dinner before, but was trying to avoid bailing on the date, completely.
Around 3:00, I was running around campus, trying to finish a sketching assignment, but with the dark cloud of three academic papers due by the end of the night looming above me, I knew I couldn’t finish everything I needed to, while still going out that night. My first instinct was to text message him, explaining how sorry I was for canceling on such short notice, but hit myself on the head for not sooner realizing that he deserved a phone call. So, I dialed.
“Hello?”
“Hi. How are you?”
“Good.”
“Good. Listen, I hate myself for doing this, but—“
“You can’t come. I knew that was it when the phone started ringing. I was afraid of this.” The disappointment in his tone was palpable. A lump formed in my throat, and I wanted to take it all back. This is precisely what I’d tried so hard to dodge.
“I know. I feel so dumb. I’m sorry. Seriously. I underestimated how much homework I would have by the end of the week, and there’s just no way I’m going to be able to finish on time. I’m so sorry. Really, I am.” There was silence on the line, “Are you still there?”
“Yeah.”
Intentional silence. I deserved that.
“Okay. Well, anyway. I hope you have a good night, and I’m sure we’ll be able to do something again, sometime. Take care.”
“Alright. Bye.” Feeling like a world-class snob, I ventured home. I felt like the scum of the Earth. A few minutes passed, and as I walked, ashamed, I loaded Facebook. Not even five minutes after our phone call, he updated his status, asking if someone would take his extra movie ticket that he’d already paid for, which was strategically specified in the post. My jaw dropped in horror. I was first upset with myself for not assuming that he’d already purchased tickets, but my guilt turned to anger as I read what he’d written.
I wasn’t mad that he was looking for a replacement for me, but annoyed that he rubbed the ticket he might’ve had to eat in my face. Instead of bowing out like a gentleman, refusing to be offended, like he’d previously promised to do had I wanted to cancel in the first place, he handled the entire ordeal like a wounded puppy. I was livid that he was claiming innocence, trying to show me that he was the victim of it all, clearly forgetting that all this time, he’d refused to let me in on the plan. He couldn’t speak with, let alone think with confidence, I was unsure whether he wanted to go anywhere with me, and let’s not forget that he asked me out using The Spirit. Ah, the way to any girl’s heart… blaming one’s interest on someone else’s persuasion.
All of this to tell you what women want, a simple answer to the eternal question:
And don’t post things on Facebook about a girl you’re trying to win over… because she’ll run the other way faster than your browser can update.
“Yes…?”
“Oh, I am so sorry. Really, I am. I didn’t mean to call you during a time that you were driving. I will call back on Monday when you get home. I still need to ask you that question that I told you I was going to ask when I spoke with you last week.”
Light bulb.
“Alright, sounds good. Talk to you then.”
Click.
The weekend passed without a hitch. Miraculously, my health returned. Monday night came, and as I was catching up on some homework, my cell phone began its familiar buzz. Seeing his name, I laughed, remembering the peculiar conversation we’d had a few days before, and then, I answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi.” Obviously, my silent judgment taught him nothing about phone call expectations.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Well, I need to ask you that thing I have been trying to ask you,” he swallowed, audibly, “ and I’ve been wondering for a long time why I've never hung out with you before. I’ve tried to kick the thought, but it hasn’t been working, and…” (Probably pay close attention to this part) “I’m not saying that it’s the spirit pushing me to do this, but, Do you think that maybe sometime this week, we could go out?”
With my mouth agape, I tried to look at things from his point of view, and had a pre-answer conversation in my mind.
Tell him that it wasn’t the spirit.
No, don’t.
But… it wasn’t…
Doesn’t matter. Say yes to the poor soul.
“Well, what did you have in mind?”
“I thought we could go see that movie, maybe. Would you want to do that?”
“Sure! I’d love to.”
The phone call continued another ten minutes. He put me on speaker phone, assuring me that no one was in the room to hear me speaking, though the thought of our conversation being so intimate and private had no place in my mind at all. I heard him flip calendar pages, trying to find a place for me in his week, and in all of that silence, couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t made a plan in the first place. Wasn’t that what you did when you asked someone out? Weren’t you supposed to say, “Hey. Movies. Friday night. 7:30. Come.” And then, if the person couldn’t, you just hung up and tried someone else? All of these thoughts interrupted by…
“Would Thursday work? If not, I’m not offended. You don’t have to go with me.”
“Thursday works.”
“No, really, I understand if you’re up to your waist in school work. It is the last week of the semester. I don’t want to step on your toes.” Not really the right use of the phrase, but I let it slide. I was pretty piled up with homework, but decided I should say yes, anyway. I was never the type to turn down anyone.
“Thursday, it is.”
“Really, you don’t have to come.” At this point, I questioned whether or not he wanted to go out at all. “Also, if you want me to make you dinner, let me know. I could do that. I know you don’t cook. So, I could feed you before the movie starts, if you’re hungry.”
Such an awkward question… statement… which part of speech was that, even?
“How about you decide, and let me know.”
“Okay. Sounds good. See you then—Oh, wait! One more thing. The last thing I was going to ask you was whether or not you were feeling better. Can I bring you anything? Medicine? Kleenex? Gatorade?” While it was a very sweet gesture, I was, in fact, feeling much better, and was in no need of his services.
“No, I’m okay. I’m not sick anymore. Thanks, though. That’s very nice of you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Uh…
“Okay, well…”
“I can hear your coughing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. Have a good night!” About an hour later, this Facebook update showed up on my screen. Word to the wise, when the Facebook status bar asks what you’re thinking, telling the entire truth is not required. In fact, I would discourage doing so.
Thursday came, and, even more so than on Monday, I was drowning in homework. I’d said no to dinner before, but was trying to avoid bailing on the date, completely.
Around 3:00, I was running around campus, trying to finish a sketching assignment, but with the dark cloud of three academic papers due by the end of the night looming above me, I knew I couldn’t finish everything I needed to, while still going out that night. My first instinct was to text message him, explaining how sorry I was for canceling on such short notice, but hit myself on the head for not sooner realizing that he deserved a phone call. So, I dialed.
“Hello?”
“Hi. How are you?”
“Good.”
“Good. Listen, I hate myself for doing this, but—“
“You can’t come. I knew that was it when the phone started ringing. I was afraid of this.” The disappointment in his tone was palpable. A lump formed in my throat, and I wanted to take it all back. This is precisely what I’d tried so hard to dodge.
“I know. I feel so dumb. I’m sorry. Seriously. I underestimated how much homework I would have by the end of the week, and there’s just no way I’m going to be able to finish on time. I’m so sorry. Really, I am.” There was silence on the line, “Are you still there?”
“Yeah.”
Intentional silence. I deserved that.
“Okay. Well, anyway. I hope you have a good night, and I’m sure we’ll be able to do something again, sometime. Take care.”
“Alright. Bye.” Feeling like a world-class snob, I ventured home. I felt like the scum of the Earth. A few minutes passed, and as I walked, ashamed, I loaded Facebook. Not even five minutes after our phone call, he updated his status, asking if someone would take his extra movie ticket that he’d already paid for, which was strategically specified in the post. My jaw dropped in horror. I was first upset with myself for not assuming that he’d already purchased tickets, but my guilt turned to anger as I read what he’d written.
I wasn’t mad that he was looking for a replacement for me, but annoyed that he rubbed the ticket he might’ve had to eat in my face. Instead of bowing out like a gentleman, refusing to be offended, like he’d previously promised to do had I wanted to cancel in the first place, he handled the entire ordeal like a wounded puppy. I was livid that he was claiming innocence, trying to show me that he was the victim of it all, clearly forgetting that all this time, he’d refused to let me in on the plan. He couldn’t speak with, let alone think with confidence, I was unsure whether he wanted to go anywhere with me, and let’s not forget that he asked me out using The Spirit. Ah, the way to any girl’s heart… blaming one’s interest on someone else’s persuasion.
All of this to tell you what women want, a simple answer to the eternal question:
Know what you want, say what you mean.
And don’t post things on Facebook about a girl you’re trying to win over… because she’ll run the other way faster than your browser can update.
