Her Dark Obsession
January
A woman’s heart is always guarded. A woman only says “Yes” if she feels emotional fulfillment, as in True Love. When a woman feels commitment, devotion and trust, then and only then does she allow a man into her bosom. A woman’s judgment should never be impaired, otherwise, she would surrender herself to the same temptations as a man, and risk being called a whore. Because everything that makes a woman a woman, everything that makes her so desirable to you, and every principle that builds the foundation of society is in her ability to say “NO.”
It’s what I always learned, growing up. That the word “no” is what gives a woman character. It gives her self-respect. And yet I find, near the turning point of my life, that I am alone. I have perfected my talent to drive the “inferior man” away, only to find that the genetic anomaly, Mr. Right, Mr. Perfect, is a myth.
My friend, I am thirty-two years old now. I don’t have the body of a teenager. I no longer have the luxury of a ten-year mission to find myself. Instead, I find myself tossing opportunities away and continuing to invest in this silly little vision of True Love that I was taught, even while I see that it becomes less true as each year passes.
I know it’s been so long since you’ve seen me in person, dear friend. Maybe you should be intrigued to know that after all these years, I still look the same. Still beautiful, as you once said, with long dark hair. Every day, I drive to my office, hardly making a noise, hardly making eye contact with anyone. Sometimes my colleagues joke about my lack of love life, and my apparent lack of interest in getting one. They call me mousy. They call me cat-lady. And that’s how it, isn’t it? Just what you said, my dear. In life, you’re either a whore or a crazy cat lady. Unless of course you marry a rich man, and then you’re the envy of everyone—the success story everyone loves to hate.
So I’ve decided to do something different this year. I am making this the year of Yes. I’m tired of rationalizing why I can’t. I’m tired of holding out for something that’s never going to happen. From now on, I am going to stop listening to that wretched little voice inside me that says “But what will people think?” and start saying Yes to life.
Because maybe, just maybe. Living like a man instead of a guarded woman is the answer to my loneliness. Maybe it’s time I start concentrating on what is front of me, rather than what is unattainable.
No matter what, and without exception, I am going to gamble with this game called love. I am going to surrender to temptation. Because whatever life has in store for me, whatever winding road I travel, nothing can possibly be worse than what has already happened. A lifetime of broken promises. A toy to be passed around clever bed hopping tricksters smart enough to recognize vulnerability. This time, the only difference is that my ego will not be wounded. My heart is not guarded, it’s simply a revolving door.
This time, my friend, it will all be for me.
**
February
My new mission of Yes has led me into a strange relationship I still cannot define. I have always been intrigued at the male species’ ability to simply walk into a bar or tavern and take home whatever or whoever he happened to find there. A mechanical, almost consumerist approach to romance.
When I went inside Pariah’s, a local sports bar here in the city, I saw a lonely man waiting at the bar. The bar was clean, certainly not the danks you’re used to, darling. But he seemed a bit disheveled, wearing slacks and a shirt that seemed only half buttoned. I immediately got the impression that he had given up, just as I had given up. Maybe he had just finished a month-long stint of striking out with all sorts of sexy girls. Or maybe my late-thirties business
January
A woman’s heart is always guarded. A woman only says “Yes” if she feels emotional fulfillment, as in True Love. When a woman feels commitment, devotion and trust, then and only then does she allow a man into her bosom. A woman’s judgment should never be impaired, otherwise, she would surrender herself to the same temptations as a man, and risk being called a whore. Because everything that makes a woman a woman, everything that makes her so desirable to you, and every principle that builds the foundation of society is in her ability to say “NO.”
It’s what I always learned, growing up. That the word “no” is what gives a woman character. It gives her self-respect. And yet I find, near the turning point of my life, that I am alone. I have perfected my talent to drive the “inferior man” away, only to find that the genetic anomaly, Mr. Right, Mr. Perfect, is a myth.
My friend, I am thirty-two years old now. I don’t have the body of a teenager. I no longer have the luxury of a ten-year mission to find myself. Instead, I find myself tossing opportunities away and continuing to invest in this silly little vision of True Love that I was taught, even while I see that it becomes less true as each year passes.
I know it’s been so long since you’ve seen me in person, dear friend. Maybe you should be intrigued to know that after all these years, I still look the same. Still beautiful, as you once said, with long dark hair. Every day, I drive to my office, hardly making a noise, hardly making eye contact with anyone. Sometimes my colleagues joke about my lack of love life, and my apparent lack of interest in getting one. They call me mousy. They call me cat-lady. And that’s how it, isn’t it? Just what you said, my dear. In life, you’re either a whore or a crazy cat lady. Unless of course you marry a rich man, and then you’re the envy of everyone—the success story everyone loves to hate.
So I’ve decided to do something different this year. I am making this the year of Yes. I’m tired of rationalizing why I can’t. I’m tired of holding out for something that’s never going to happen. From now on, I am going to stop listening to that wretched little voice inside me that says “But what will people think?” and start saying Yes to life.
Because maybe, just maybe. Living like a man instead of a guarded woman is the answer to my loneliness. Maybe it’s time I start concentrating on what is front of me, rather than what is unattainable.
No matter what, and without exception, I am going to gamble with this game called love. I am going to surrender to temptation. Because whatever life has in store for me, whatever winding road I travel, nothing can possibly be worse than what has already happened. A lifetime of broken promises. A toy to be passed around clever bed hopping tricksters smart enough to recognize vulnerability. This time, the only difference is that my ego will not be wounded. My heart is not guarded, it’s simply a revolving door.
This time, my friend, it will all be for me.
**
February
My new mission of Yes has led me into a strange relationship I still cannot define. I have always been intrigued at the male species’ ability to simply walk into a bar or tavern and take home whatever or whoever he happened to find there. A mechanical, almost consumerist approach to romance.
When I went inside Pariah’s, a local sports bar here in the city, I saw a lonely man waiting at the bar. The bar was clean, certainly not the danks you’re used to, darling. But he seemed a bit disheveled, wearing slacks and a shirt that seemed only half buttoned. I immediately got the impression that he had given up, just as I had given up. Maybe he had just finished a month-long stint of striking out with all sorts of sexy girls. Or maybe my late-thirties business
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