Truth: I am nearly 22 years old. I have never had a boyfriend – serious or otherwise – and have only been on two casual dates, one of which was my high school prom. For a long time I thought it was my problem. I seemed too awkward, too fat, too incapable and uninteresting. So I dieted, learned how to ask people questions, did a lot of social things that felt risky and uncomfortable so as to strengthen my latent relational muscle.
And nothing happened. Still. Nothing’s happened. And perhaps it continues to be my problem. Perhaps, being a member of Generation MTV, brought up with Disney and Barbie’s Dreamhouse, I am a dysfunctional customer of a culture that sold me a hyper-romantic myth of what relationships look like: sex sex sex or Kleinfelds. I do watch a lot of movies.
I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. I’ve done my research. I’m convinced there is a big glob of lies that stand between women and men, keeping us from truly understanding one another, and messing up what should be relatively simple interactions.
I think that there is something wrong about the fact that girls feel guilty for wanting to be asked to formals; that come Friday night the same ladies are left lonely; that the majority of conversations women have with men are driven and instigated by those women; that at college breakfasts after church, the genders part much like the Red Sea.