“I don’t know that many people that like to wash out their dirty linen in public like you do,” my friend would probably say when he reads this. But his concerns haven’t helped me much, else I wouldn’t be writing this.
I called up the poor fellow just last night to tell him about my brake up with yet another girl and all he could mutter was “Not again!” Maybe I have issues, maybe I do not. But before you judge me you should know this – love and all that mushy feeling that more often than not accompanies it, only turns your brain to eh, mush. Don’t get me wrong. I am not afraid to love, but for some reason I lack the necessary skill to deal with it I guess.
It’s a mere four lettered word but it is to a grown man what the boogey man is to kids. And we thought we were all grown. I hate to make excuses, but I believe someone other than me should be made responsible for why my heart skips every time a girl uses the word “love” in a sentence. The context in which she is using it is almost irrelevant as far I am concerned. It starts with how much she loves mangoes, or mineral water and then every time she mentions her annoying little dog, pooky, she reminds you of how much she loves him too. It’s a sign, but only a few of us are attentive enough to spot it. I knew there was trouble brewing, and it was only a matter of time before she likens me to pooky. I was so right.
She said the word.
On my drive home the night she first spoke those words, I kept asking myself, “Why do I have to respond with an “I love you too,” to an “I love you”?
You took a minute, pondered over it and still didn’t get an answer suitable enough for that question, right? I didn’t either.
I care for her, like her, yes. But I wasn’t so sure I was in love. “You wouldn’t be able to tell, even if love were like a pellet and struck you in the face” was all she said and right before she left me, angered, her heels digging into the ground as she stormed off.
Go ahead and call me a schmuck, see if I care. How many people say “I like you too” as a response to an “I love you,” huh? It might sound dumb but I was trying to be sincere. They are quick to point out that men were all liars. My friend Nike is nice enough to say “99% are. “ and here I am, trying to be good for once but somehow I still did bad.
I hate to say the obvious but… Chicks love lies!
If I had confessed love too, I probably would be planning a weekend with pooky, my girlfriend and a grey big elephant right about now. But I didn’t, and that was my crime.
Sometimes I am tempted to ask Do we say we love because it is culturally accepted, because it is politically correct or is it because we feel like the people we love were important parts of us? parts that needs be cherished, wholly and unconditionally?
I don’t know how it works for others but I like to look before i jump, because when I do, I know I am prepared to keep my head afloat no matter the circumstances.
Sweetie, if you are reading this, I hope you now understand that Love is a rather ambiguous word. If you loved me like you claimed, and love were true, and real, and relevant, and conquers all, then it should make no demands.(Now I am sounding like a girl)
Men, I like to think are like sweet potatoes, all hard from the outside. But you boil and stew em and the taste is… So if you love ‘em be not afraid of the challenges.
I am not blaming you. Guess I should blame the media or peer pressure or society or something but I am sure as hell not taking the wrap for this one either.
Babe! Do you love me, or do you love me not?
PS:
I don’t hate pooky. I just think he is annoying. Really annoying!
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