You see, I know this girl. And she’s too forgiving. She says things are fine when they aren’t. And she listens to lies and half-truths and says ‘no worries’ but deep down she thinks: Why?
Over the years she has been single and married and divorced and married and single again and if you asked her what she thinks she’d say that she believes in love. Sometimes I even believe her.
She has a friend, her friend’s name is Smarty. When this girl and Smarty first became friends what the friend noticed was that Smarty was brutally honest with the men in her life. The girl? Not as much. Oh, she didn’t lie, but she didn’t always speak with as much force as Smarty. The girl was curious. What was different about Smarty that made her say exactly what the girl was saying, but in a way that men seemed to hear – they didn’t always listen – but they heard. The girl thought maybe she was speaking at the right volume. Children and women seemed to hear her just fine.
The more she thought – the more she wondered if having a father made a difference. You see, the girl was raised by a single mom. She can do a lot of her own auto repairs, prepare for storms, raise a child and get promoted at work with ease. She can run and swim and bike and she writes and reads and basically, she’s pretty damned self-sufficient. But she didn’t grow up with a dad, even though she grew up around plenty of men. There wasn’t one singular voice of the XY persuasion saying: This is what you should say.
Smarty, on the other hand, had a father. She had a man in her life, when it counted, who said: You can do this and you can also do better. She had a champion who was of the opposite sex. So while the girl has no trouble attracting men, she often has trouble getting them to know when she’s fed the fuck up. I mean, when she’s tired. See the difference? She’s fed the fuck up but she says she’s tired. And for all of this tiredness she is tagged as many things, including not so nice things. So what happens? She gets more tired and more fed the fuck up.
She’s listened to men tell her they cheated on her because she worked too hard. Or because she wasn’t around. Or she didn’t need them. She’s also heard them say they wanted to be with her and only her – only to have them tell the most amazing lies, even when they weren’t being pressed for a truth.
And she keeps saying: Just be honest. And they keep saying: We are! This IS honesty. One night, a few days ago, she mistakenly watched “Eat, Pray, Love” and she was sad because she couldn’t find the remote. When she finally located it she realized it was too late. Javier Bardem was telling Julia Roberts that she didn’t need a man – she needed a champion. And the girl cried. She was mad, too. First, she cried because she was watching a lame movie, then she cried because she’s always been her own champion and now she wanted to share the pleasure a little bit.
But what could she do? She could be more upfront – and for that she gets a shit show. But it was her shit show. And she’s happy it came when it did – when she was feeling her most creative. During a hurricane. Shit shows and hurricanes are better fitted for fed the fuck up moments. They create revolutions.
So. A champion, eh? I’m going to tell the girl about this line from the movie – not about the movie because I don’t want to be blamed for things that aren’t my fault. Anymore.
And yes, this is the start of a new series. It’s about time.