Men and Women: A Discourse

[Sared]

Let's say a guy named Roger is attracted to a woman named Elaine. 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
Elaine, 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 Elaine, it seems like a very
loud silence. She thinks to herself: Geez, 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 Roger is thinking. Gosh. Six months.

And Elaine 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 toward. . . . 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 Roger 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 Elaine 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 Roger 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
thieving bastards six hundred dollars.

And Elaine 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 Roger is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90-day
warranty. That's exactly what they're gonna say, the scumballs.

And Elaine 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.

`There's no horse'

And Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them
a warranty. I'll take their warranty and stick it . . .

"Roger," Elaine says aloud.

"What?" says Roger, startled.

"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says, her eyes
beginning to brim with tears. "Maybe I should never have... Oh, I feel
so..." (She breaks down sobbing.)

"What?" says Roger.

"I'm such a fool," Elaine 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 Roger.

"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Elaine says.

"No!" says Roger, glad to finally know the correct answer.

"It's just that . . . it's that I . . .I need some time," Elaine says.

(There is a pause while Roger, 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.

(Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand.)

"Oh, Roger, do you really feel that way?" she says.

"What way?" says Roger.

"That way about time," says Elaine.

"Oh," says Roger. "Yes."

(Elaine 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, Roger," she says.

"Thank you," says Roger.

Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted,
tortured soul, and weeps until dawn, whereas when Roger 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 tennis match between two
Czechoslovakians he 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. (This is also Roger's policy regarding world hunger.)

The next day, Elaine 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.

Meanwhile, Roger, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual
friend of his and Elaine's, will pause just before serving, frown, and
say: "Norm, did Elaine ever own a horse?"

[Pirus]

LOL nice... Overthinking things sure can become annoying.