A (frustrated) Wife's Monologue (part 2)

Almost a year to the day I wrote the first part, the same issue rears its ugly head again. This time, I confess I was the guilty party - I was too frustrated to edit my word blurted a rather harsh line - "I wish you were man enough."

It was a typical night of banter when I uttered that line to myself in response to his laughing remark of "What? You don't think I'm man enough to wear it?" A few minutes before dinner I just got rejected again when I suggested we could make a go at it because I was ovulating (I know. Hormones and tempers don't mix). I know it was harsh and his anger was understandable.

I gave him a few minutes to cool off and tried to apologize. He was still fuming and said I might as well post it on Facebook for everybody to see. First, I rarely post about him or us and second, it's always something I find endearing about him. Now tell me if that's undermining him. My private life is just that - private.

Giving up is not in my blood so I tried again. I just got an angry "go find yourself another guy" followed by the silent treatment. I know I hurt him with that thoughtless remark and I accept that. I just wish he saw past that and try to find out what was eating me. I don't need another guy. I want my husband.

One of our friends gave us this book "The Act of Marriage" that advises Christian couples on the importance of sexual love. He refuses to read it. It doesn't really help me much in terms of my drive because it assumes the man is more driven than the wife and not vice versa. It doesn't even advocate masturbation. Great, so we're stuck. But it does say that a thoughtful partner would think about his wife's pleasure. Good luck to me on that.

One of the ironies of married life is that you still can't tell your partner about every opinion and thought you have. You still have to walk on eggshells to avoid upsetting the balance and you have to appear like a Stepford wife. But I'm not. I'm me. What the heck do I do now?

Post-Script: After doing some retail therapy and another apology from me (aided by an apology coupon stuck to a cute bunny coin bank), we kissed and made up. Lessons learned - filter my thoughts and men have fragile egos.

The Boylet Chronicles - The Pitfalls of Falling

"Why can't it be more than friendship?"

I was sitting at the next table when the guy I had a crush on (and a recent boylet at the time) asked this to my friend that I set him up with just that night. The guy was smitten.

Already feeling miserable from some extra-strong antibiotics my doctor prescribed the day before and wearing 5-inch heels for the company year-end party we attended, my heart dropped to the floor when his attraction transferred to my pretty friend. They were a perfect match (at least I thought so at that time). He was attractive in an intelligent way accented by that DJ-like voice. He was smart and articulate to boot. She was petite and pretty with a mean understanding of philosophy and science (which I conveniently forgot as soon as I finished college.) The funny thing was, it was my idea to introduce them to each other because I just wasn't that interested in the guy (or so I thought). On hindsight, he was rather clingy - which I really didn't like - but that's a story for another day. Let's just say I was hoping against hope he found me worth pursuing too. Just my luck that when I pushed him to the other direction, he willingly went that way.

So I sat there in that 24-hour fastfood joint with a smile plastered to my face, trying so hard not to stare at the tender looks he kept giving to my friend. For once, one of my matchmaking schemes did work though I never knew I would feel hurt. I wanted to snatch one of those looks for myself. I just had them a few days before!

However, I knew it wasn't meant to be. Meantime girls don't get lucky in that part. And I volunteered the matchmaking in the first place. Inherent kindness and a weird code of ethics compelled me to follow through. I was the meantime girl. The one he had in between. He did say we were both adults and knew what we were getting into. In principle, I was sticking to that.

I saw the romance bloom in front of my eyes. I plastered that smile to hide the loss, pain and letting go of something I couldn't have. Okay, okay. I didn't quite hide the pain very well but I blamed them on my fab heels, which by the time he remembered to ask about my welfare, I was already holding in my hands while I hobbled behind them barefoot.

I know, I know. I wasn't as casual about the encounter as I wanted to be. Female that I was, I still needed to feel something to do it with the guy. But I knew we didn't have a future anyway (and call it intuition because I was right not to go that way). Still, I wanted to say "Hey, he was mine first!". No, I didn't. I know a hopeless case when I see it. (Do credit me for having a bit of self-preservation.)

If I learned anything about that long-ago episode, it was to never, ever fall for the guy. Even just a bit. Oscar best actress awardee I am not. Not unless you have a really good excuse to look miserable (like really strong side-effects from meds or a bad decision to wear really high heels because they made your legs look good), just stay clear of falling for the guy.

Wallflower Posts - The Other Side

"You? A wallflower? I don't believe it!"

A friend's shocked comments one coffee date ago had me explaining the weird phenomenon of Quiquay ending up as a wallflower. The poor guy couldn't believe loud, gregarious, passably cute me would ever end up as a wallflower. Oh, you better believe it, pal. I was a true-blue, certified bluestocking wallflower.

For a loud girl who loved to dance to end up as a wallflower seems impossible but I was. During prom, I remember watching in desperation as my crush danced with other girls and I had to dance with every other drooling minion my nemesis could command. It was also sweet torture to talk and smile at him in an after-prom party and pretend everything was fine. And like some weird plot that could only happen in TV-landia or my life, I also had to frustratingly wait in the sidelines and watch him court other girls while simultaneously acting as a gatekeeper between me and some suitors. In their world of bro-code, he couldn't even express interest in me - if he was ever interested.

College saw me with a little more guts to flirt but under the guise of friendship. I figured, as much as I was for the feminist movement (to an extent), guys still had to make the first move. So there was I, a bit aloof, sometimes friendly, still pining away for the crushes that never went beyond a smile and small talk.

Valentine's Day was especially torturous in the dorm as the resident assistants paged the pretty girls one by one to claim their flowers, cards, chocolates and dates at the lobby. After a freshman year of enduring that painful occasion, I resolved to stay out of my room every February 14. Unfortunately, in the following year, the images of balloons, roses, chocolates and hearts nearly had me snapping at everybody so I wished I was back in my room. Thankfully, some rather sadistic (?) professors scheduled their mid-term exams during the auspicious day so I was spared the maudlin effects of feeling sorry for myself and worried about my grades instead.

I was also supposed to be more able to interpret behavior because I was studying human behavior, right? Not. I was actually clueless about men. I figured, if he was interested, he'll find a way to be with me. But as I found out, the guys I met wanted easy and prettier pickings - girls they didn't have to court for a year and those who looked like models and dolls. Loud, opinionated, obstinate and just passably attractive little old me was just to prickly to be considered.

Incidentally, I just wanted a guy who could tell right in front of me how he felt and what he wanted. Weird enough, the boylets I eventually met did ask and told me exactly how they felt. Yeah, yeah, I know it's just that, but it was progress. Eventually, one did go beyond the prickly thorns and found his rose. It was the others' loss and his gain.

The Boylet Chonicles - Boylets and "The Rules" Book

"The Rules" is a self-help book that basically tells females to let the man do the asking. Does that mean we have to wait in vain while they make up their minds whether they like us or not? Waiting - that we have to do. In vain? I don't think so. "The Rules" also advises women that they should just stay as fabulous and unique as they are and let the confidence attract the men like flowers to the bees. If they don't come - well, at least you went on with your life.

A friend also referred a book called "He's Just Not That Into You" which basically says the same - wait for the man to do the calling and asking. If the man really likes you, he'll do whatever is possible to be with you. If he doesn't call, he's not interested.

So how do "The Rules" relate to the boylets? If it's a booty call, it's a booty call, right?

Not all booty calls are created equal. Just as not all meantime girls are created equal. There are meantime girls that just settle for the scraps their boylets give them and then there are meantime girls who take their power on their own and explore the world for all its worth. These girls are not the sort to mope the guy's lack of commitment. They know they're fabulous just the way they are. Just because you agreed to a no-commitment physical relationship doesn't mean you ignore all common sense and let the guy have his way with you. You have to lay down the rules lest the guy think you're a doormat he can just walk over. Hey, he still has to respect you even after the fact (or sleepover. or act- whatever you call you-know-what).

Not that I claim to be the latter kind. I just figured it was useless wringing my hands and dissecting every single gesture as a declaration of their affection when I knew it was what it was. The strongest emotion they might have had would be a friendly fondness anyway. And I was in a safe place (but with a very whacked-out neurosis I don't even want to dive into) so that was that.

Anyway, long before I knew what "The Rules" were and what it contained, I let the guys do the asking. If I was free, then maybe we could go out. If I wasn't in the mood (or down with a really bad cold), I said no. One time a guy sent a text messages asking me out (you know what that means) and I was exchanging sexts (sexy, full of innuendos text messages) with him, little did he know I was in my ratty clothes, all red-nosed, bleary eyed and gargling warm salty water to ease my sore throat. I finally had to say, "No, I really can't" and tell him as much as his invitation appealed to me (hey, he was a major cutie!), I really didn't want him seeing me at my worst and catching my cold. Thankfully, he took no offense and asked me out again later. As much as we really didn't leave anything to imagination (pun intended), I wanted to retain a little bit of mystery. On how much mystery was left when he's probably seen all my hidden moles remains unknown. =)

I also had a unwritten rule then (not so unwritten now that I'm telling what it was) that I never leave the house once I've literally checked in for the day. Since I lived inside a village where public transport has a rather early curfew, I hated going out late in the evening. I am not about to stick my neck out for a guy who gives no consideration for my safety. If the guy wanted to see me, he'd have to really go out of his way and drive or take a cab to my place. It's a convenient way of knowing if the guy really wants you. If he does, he'll come and get you, come hell or high water.

(Oh, I know one guy who drove 30 or so kilometers to the girl's apartment late one evening. And since he didn't bring his cell, he had to stop at an internet shop to get her home phone number and find a payphone to call her before he went to her place. He wasn't even sure if she was awake. Now that's a lot of effort for an unsure thing.)

I've made one or two mistakes of being too available and true enough, they eventually went nowhere (translation - the guy lost interest). But those that I valued myself enough to make them do the effort of asking and impressing me - they came back for more. I actually had an argument with a friend about who was responsible for what until I told him he always initiated things and I wasn't even trying to seduce him at all. He shut up (and had to make up for that mini-fight. *wink*).

A cautionary tale for not following "The Rules". A friend made the first move by calling the guy who barely remembered her (he remembered me though) and practically initiated their first few dates together. Now the guy takes her for granted and hardly makes an effort to see her. She tried the rules on him but it was too late - he never saw her as someone worth pursuing.

Boyfriend or boylet material, always let them do the "active" pursuing. They love the challenge. You just have to cast the challenge first - but make it clear they have to work for it. If they're into you - they'll make every effort possible to be with you.

Not that I'm deluding myself and declaring me a femme fatale. I was more bemused and curious than flattered by the situation and wondered why they wanted a rather eccentric, opinionated, loud and curvy (read: chubby) female. I don't know how their mind works so I can't give you an answer for that.

But heed "The Rules" - even for such a casual thing. If the guy knows you're worth it he'll put on the effort to make you feel as good as he can. And come back for more. =p