When I was in fifth grade, a friend told me that I was “boy crazy.” I told her she was wrong, because I wasn’t really crazy; I just had crushes on almost every cute boy I saw. That’s all!
The extent of my boy-craziness is probably best exemplified by the time I asked my sixth-grade friend to set me up with her cousin. Yup. I wanted a blind date at sixth grade.
I don’t even remember the cousin’s name. Dylan? Matt? Some typical American name like that. She had us exchange numbers, and he started calling me. He seemed like a real enough person, so the whole thing seemed legit to me. Dylan-Matt and I eventually agreed to a movie date.
I had my mom drop me off at the library, which was only half a block away from the movie theater. She couldn’t know I was going on a date, obviously! Once she disappeared, I walked over to the theater and waited. And waited. And then I called Dylan-Matt. Then waited and called, until his mom picked up. She said Dylan-Matt’s busy; something about a soccer game or his cousins or something about something. Then I called again, and Dylan-Matt’s mom sounded angry. I stopped waiting.
I, at twelve years old, had been stood up by a blind date. If you ever feel bad about being single, at least you’re not a twelve-year-old being stood up by someone she never met.
[Image courtesy of http://epaige926.tumblr.com/]
Today is the anniversary of my parents’ now-kaput marriage, and it’s also the second day of my third attempt at reading Anna Karenina. I figured today is the right day to talk a bit about relationships.
Right away, the book opens with the topic of infidelity; Oblonsky has cheated on his wife, Dolly, with the family’s governess. I, in my relationship-addled mindset, started to realize that affairs aren’t a new trend; it’s been as old as time.
Kings in biblical times had multiple wives; Genghis Khan did, too. European monarchs had affairs (think Henry VIII with Anne Boleyn), and some mistresses had no problem publicizing the affairs. Does the fact that infidelity has long been a part of our history support the theory that monogamy is not normal?
If so, then maybe those women who call in on Ryan’s Roses are overreacting. Perhaps they should be accepting instead of upset. Perhaps I should stop wanting to cut off the dicks of the men who get caught. I hope that’s not the case, because monogamy is an implied promise in relationships, and anyone who breaks the promise shouldn’t be allowed to use human nature as an excuse. There’s human nature, and then there’s basic human decency.
In the end, I guess everyone makes their own definitions of monogamy and fidelity, but I know that at this point in my life and my relationship, infidelity is an unforgivable sin. I don’t believe in “once a cheater, always a cheater,” but I believe that trust is like glass. When glass is broken, the pieces can be put back together, but there will always be a crack. It might as well be broken forever.
Happy Valentine’s Day, readers!
I know some of you might feel that this is a greeting card holiday only created to make men feel obligated to spend exorbitant amounts of money for their significant others.
BUUUUT…let’s look at today as more of a reminder to celebrate love in its full glory. Why do we need a reminder? ‘Cause you know we don’t celebrate it every day.
I hope all of you have a lovely day. Get yourself some flowers and chocolates!
Update post coming soon.
I found two love notes from my dad to my mom. They were written back when they were still dating. I’ll do my best to translate one of them here. His eloquence might be lost, though. All ellipses are his.
“Truthfully there is no gift valuable enough for you…and truthfully this is what is most valuable to me: that you already own me and my love.
However, this Christmas night, let one more thing that is hardly enough in value be yours, too, because as you said, “anything from [me] is truly worthy”…I am happy because of it. From this day, I hope you and I become even happier.”
Merry Christmas ‘87, my jewel!
The note made me more angry and sad than anything, and it bothered me all day. I couldn’t reconcile this romantic image of my father with the image I have of him as an absentee leader of the family who has only made one feeble attempt to reconnect during the seven years of no contact.
The guy who wrote this note—where did he go? He was 23 when he wrote this, and I can definitely see where I get my writing skills from. But I just—I’m sad and angry because these words feel empty now, and deep down, I wish they wouldn’t feel that way.
I’m trying to focus on the fact that at least love did exist between my parents at some point. I didn’t mean for this to trip me up so badly, but it did.
