Let's say
a guy named Fred is attracted to a woman named Martha. He asks her out to a
movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time. A few nights later he asks
her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves. They continue to see each
other regularly, and after a while neither one of them is seeing anybody else.
And then, one evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to Martha,
and, without really thinking, she says it aloud: "Do you realize that, as
of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?"
And then, there is silence in the car.
To Martha, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: I wonder
if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by our
relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of
obligation that he doesn't want, or isn't sure of.
And Fred is thinking: Gosh. Six months.
And Martha is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of
relationship either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I'd have
time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are,
moving steadily towards, I mean, where are we going? Are we just going to keep
seeing each other at this level of intimacy? Are we heading toward marriage?
Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of
commitment? Do I really even know this person?
And Fred is thinking: ...so that means it was...let's see...February when we
started going out, which was right after I had the car at the dealer's, which
means...lemme check the odometer...Whoa! I am way overdue for an oil change
here.
And Martha is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I'm reading
this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more
intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed - even before I sensed it - that
I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's why he's so
reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid of being
rejected.
And Fred is thinking: And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission again. I
don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting right. And they
better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time. What cold weather?
It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a garbage truck, and I
paid those incompetent thieves $600.
And Martha is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too. I
feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm
just not sure.
And Fred is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90-day
warranty...scumballs.
And Martha is thinking: Maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to
come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right next to a perfectly
good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a
person who seems to truly care about me. A person who is in pain because of my
self-centered, schoolgirl romantic fantasy.
And Fred is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them a
warranty. I'll take their warranty and stick it right up their...
"Fred," Martha says aloud.
"What?" says Fred, startled.
"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says, her eyes
beginning to brim with tears. "Maybe I should never have...oh dear, I feel
so..."(She breaks down, sobbing.)
"What?" says Fred.
"I'm such a fool," Martha sobs. "I mean, I know there's no
knight. I really know that. It's silly. There's no knight, and there's no
horse."
"There's no horse?" says Fred.
"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Martha says.
"No!" says Fred, glad to finally know the correct answer.
"It's just that...it's that I...I need some time," Martha says.
(There is a 15-second pause while Fred, thinking as fast as he can, tries to
come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might
work.)
"Yes," he says. (Martha, deeply moved, touches his hand.)
"Oh, Fred, do you really feel that way?" she says.
"What way?" says Fred.
"That way about time," says Martha.
"Oh," says Fred. "Yes." (Martha turns to face him and gazes
deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might
say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)
"Thank you, Fred," she says.
"Thank you," says Fred.
Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul,
and weeps until dawn, whereas when Fred gets back to his place, he opens a bag
of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun
of a college basketball game between two South Dakota junior colleges that he
has never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that
something major was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure there
is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it's better if he
doesn't think about it.
The next day Martha will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and
they will talk about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking
detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going
over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression, and gesture for
nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification.
They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe
months, never reaching any definite conclusions, but never getting bored with
it either.
Meanwhile, Fred, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual friend of his and
Martha's, will pause just before serving, frown, and say: "Norm, did
Martha ever own a horse?"
And that's the difference between men and women. Dave Barry
