The impetuous process we call “Dating”
The game between man and woman dates back to our homo sapient era, when our ancestors were apes and bonobos. The ape is a violent and aggressive mammal – and the bonobo is the more physically affectionate. And somewhere several hundred thousands of years ago, the two species collided and thus born was the mutt: Aka: the modern day human. And what are we? Well, we’re a beautiful blend of violence and passion.
The brain games men and women heave on each other- trick and confuse the other with, are as important as they are entertaining. Call you tomorrow? Text me when? Touch me now! Oh wait I didn't mean that….. Oh my god, that’s my favorite author, entrée, pet peeve, fetish, color, and dog too!
The identical games we swear we’ll refuse to partake in, claim we'll abandon and dismiss, staking our vulnerability and independence, still rule our systematic (dare I say efficient) process. This is the brutal tri-dimensional brain game that we, as heterosexuals, seeking soul-mates succombed to.... And It's a cruel version of monopoly turned twister that Webster has defined as dating.
What is dating? Well, it can be titillating, or a lackluster filtering method to rid of the opposite gender who have failed to meet our perquisites. Yet, we still partake with the hope we'll find someone, and to possibly fill a photo album? Or dare I say, someone with whom to one day pro-actively procreate? Thus we aspire through this century-old archaic activity, sacrificing Saturday nights to unearth our westernized ideology, fantasy – aka: future of a perfect family. The man or the woman who will fit the bill (resume) will grace us with 2.7 perfectly engineered children. Whose combo of us and them produce genetics of genius, so the child will concurrently kick ass in soccer, spelling bees, and eventually attend Ivy-Leagues. Right? I don't have kids, so I could be totally wrong.
But before the birthday parties, where children bash piñatas and TV remote controls need parental control, a man and woman had to win, or in some case – they both had to lose. But however you want to phrase the copasetic agreement… there had to be a mutual “Gimme”.
This feat of finding "the one" is far more fierce and exhausting than any kind of sports playoff you can fathom – and I hate to admit, but your return on investment might not be as rewording as shorting a pitiful stock, hitting jackpot in Vegas, dominating fantasy football, or getting a Gucci purse at Saks for 80% off. No this is not only a game against the opposite gender, but it’s against yourself. A deceptive version of the tango, the perfect syncopation where drama is equally important as the irrational, and the only thing we can do....
is make sure we don’t send the last text, say the wrong thing, or pose the wrong question, and mostly not come across as totally not right
So in a culture when non-failing professionals making an above-poverty income boast individuality on a pedestal of power, what’s a single gal to do?
HAVE FUN!
