Y ou are a lowly second grader slumped over in your desk, listening to a teacher who is altogether too nice telling you something about how Billy has one apple, and Martha has two apples, and together, how many apples will they have, and what if one is taken away, and what if three are added, and if you dozed off while this whole exchange was taking place, would you really miss anything?
How often do we find ourselves trading apples? So you're sitting there, pondering the nature of trade and existence (as a second-grader, mind you) when you feel a light tap on your shoulder.
It's so light, you would have totally ignored it in any other situation, but because you're bored out of your mind and way too smart for this second-grader stuff, you look behind you.
It's David. David Bills.
Quite possibly the cutest second grader that ever lived. And you're in heaven. Apples would matter if David was eating one, and existence matters because, well, if you weren't existing, you couldn't enjoy David's presence. Anyway, he smiles and passes you a folded paper.
It's folded like one of those cootie catchers. David isn't so bright. I guess he doesn't realize that a cootie catcher isn't just a way to fold a note, it's our only way of connecting with our powers of future-telling. Withering its essence down to a folded note is something like sacrilege, but you pay no attention.
You unfold the cootie catcher and find on it a few poorly-written words (David has awful handwriting), which carry with them a kind of weight you haven't been familiar with until this point:
Do You lyke me?
Yes No Mabey (Cerkel 1)
And this is the beginning of your life as a woman. Too bad you wake up and realize this whole David Bills thing was just a dream, and you're actually "dating" Marcus Lewzewsky, the class snot with whom you have no idea how to break up because you're in freakin' second grade, and you're only with him because you were trying to be nice and Mommy always taught you to never say no and always say yes.
Always say yes, always. No is for rude girls, and that's the sort of thing that gets you into time out.
Would you like some more collards? Yes.
Would you please hold still while I'm doing your hair? Yes.
Would you please be so kind as to take out the trash? Yes.
Would you go out with me? Y-y-sniffle sniffle. Yes.
This unfortunate incident will most likely reflect the nature of the relationships you will have to endure for the rest of your life - or, that is, until you find someone you can stand.
We fear them, we loathe them and yet we love them. It's a fascinating dichotomy. You want a relationship because you want someone to relate to, someone to share your experience with, someone, one person, who can understand you fully and love who you are. But we find that once we enter into that contract with another person, it's a bit of a letdown.
You may be thinking to yourself, "But Olivia. I'm in an amazing relationship now. I'm so unbelievably happy with [insert name here], and we've been together for almost an entire year!"
And that may be true. You probably feel that way now. But fast-forward a few months, when you find out about the cheating and the chauvinism and whatever other abuse or exploitation of your trust he incurred, and you've got a much different story.
How could I have ever felt that way about him? Was I delusional? And all the good that ever came out of that relationship has become, in a single moment, wholly erased.
So after understanding this, is it really such a surprise that anyone would have a fear of commitment? To be honest, we aren't really afraid of being devoted to one person (because if they were worth it, that wouldn't be so difficult), and we aren't afraid of being "owned." We're afraid of getting hurt.
Of doubting our own sanity.
Of being used.
I can't even begin to get into the challenges of being a man. Many a superficial woman spends too much time outlining in detail her "standards": the ideal wealth and status of her husband in addition to the names of all of her children ("if it's a boy I'll name him Lucas, if it's a girl I'll name her Charlotte, and if I end up adopting from Mongolia, Xiu Xiu"), and the color of the drapes in her Hollywood Hills mansion.
Come on, girls. How could any guy measure up? And on top of this, he's gotta be smart, funny and handsome? After fulfilling your criteria, there's hardly any room left for a guy to be a genuine person who enjoys learning for the sake of learning and who wouldn't mind using your toothbrush if the dog accidentally got a hold of his.
I guess what I'm getting at here is that we create our own fears in this department. If we could be decent, honest and up-front with each other we wouldn't be in this little predicament. Women need to stop playing victim roles in relationships. Men need to grow up. You can't be afraid of getting into something while simultaneously generating the type of behavior that makes other people fearful.
