My friend Megan has an interesting theory about friends with benefits (that is to say, when that is how he defines it, and the woman inevitability wants more). She says it’s when a man feels like having girlfriend moments but then takes off until the next time he feels like seducing you with wine and dinner. Weeks can go by until he feels like calling you again. Meanwhile us woman cherish those hours we have with the man because we don’t know when we’re going to have it next. We wait by the phone. We send what we think is a cute e-mail. We try to be patient–and maybe we are for a few days–but inside we’re crumbling. Analyzing. Self-esteem plummets–tearing ourselves to pieces because we know we deserve better, but nobody has come along yet. We remember those few tender moments with him and we feel better, at least for the night we’re together.
I never thought I’d be one of those women. I judged my friends who were. I suddenly am her, accepting this bull shit from someone I know would be a terrible boyfriend. Someone whose personal goals are polar opposite from mine. Someone who has been vocal from the beginning about wanting to remain bachelor. Someone who owns two knives, two forks, and rewashes a plastic spoon from Wendy’s.
Who am I? Why am I doing this to myself?
These are the questions I really need to ponder and explore. The thing is, I’m afraid of the answers.
