You know that awkward moment when the line you gave someone else is now the line that’s being given to you? Ouch, that smarts! Maybe it’s not an exact line, but a routine. That thing you do where instead of saying that you really want to say, you say something far, far more neutral. And you’ve done it, so you know what it looks like, and thus when someone does it to you, it’s a special sort of mindfuck.
It’s so hard, you know? It’s so hard to just “be yourself” but without being your fully realized annoying self. If I was really being myself I would say exactly what was on my mind and what I wanted to happen and how I really feel about Wes Anderson, or whatever is supposed to matter. In the beginning of anything, a new job, a new relationship — friendship or otherwise — don’t you just want to sit that person down and say, “Okay, here is where I want this to go and here’s what I think and feel about you, so let’s not waste each others’ youth here”? I know I do. But that kills the fun of it, apparently.
So we don’t do that. We do what we’re supposed to do. If we’re not interested, we’re nice anyway. If we are interested, we mute our interest. So because of this, it’s hard to tell who is sincere anymore and who isn’t. Especially since the majority of our interaction comes from texting. Women are stellar at taking apart text messages, like we’re excavating a tomb, trying to find the hidden meaning in everything, leaving nothing undiscovered. For example: “Me too” — I could take that apart in six different ways. Logically, I know that that’s insane. I know that the only thing to read there is two words, and anything else is something I’m making up. Pure fiction.
I don’t want to do this. I really don’t. So let’s not, okay? We’re all in this together. Can we all agree to drop the pretense or is that too frightening? Let’s figure something out.
