Friday, July 18, 2014

Deep Thoughts

  True Love Tale Here Boss


 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: 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'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.

There are so many variations of this that it must be true.  And it is.  Of course,  she grows up and votes a straight Democrat ticket because she's, well, a deep thinker.
Tim W


Jess said...

I had to read it three times to finish. The part about the oil change made me realize I didn't have a spare filter, and probably should get another few quarts of oil...the air filter is good, but I know my truck will be going to the shop for some ac work.

I need to check my tread wear.

Rodger the Real King of France said...


R. Kelly Coker said...

Oh, yeah, that reminds me.......

Anonymous said...

Here's a tip for women: subjecting an ongoing relationship to a close (even forensic) examination will have the same effect on the relationship as vivisection does on a human being.

I'm wasting my time, of course, because women will always do that regardless of the consequences.


Anonymous said...

I remember when I finally got this Man/Woman difference through my thick head.

Whadda relief!!!

Yesterday, hung some drapes with The Mister and Lovely Daughter. Good thing we share a weird sense of humor; laffing at the difference between The Girl Way [hold it up and try it out at each stage to see if it works, change your mind ...erm, I mean *re-design* at every stage] and The Guy Way [decide once and forever How It Will Be, measure, figure, put it up all at once, never look back]

Men: gotta love 'em...


Anonymous said...

Ding. Years ago, I dated a young lady and eventually we mutually determined we weren't going anywhere, wrong point in both our lives at that moment, and went our separate ways. A few years later I was out of school and gainfully employed, and ran into one of this woman's girlfriends who asked, what are you doing these days, and so I whupped out a business card in explanation and that was that.

Or, so I thought.

That evening, I get a call from the old flame who said how nice it was that I wanted to hear from her again. What? "Oh, yes, you gave your business card to my girlfriend and we couldn't imagine why you would do such a thing if you didn't want to hear from me again."

Let's just say, from that point on, the conversation did not go satisfactorily from either party's point of view and eventually the legitimacy of my birth and various other shortcomings were discussed (that is to say, shouted) at length. Ah well, you can't please everybody. But whatever in the hell it was those two were thinking has been a mystery to me for years, throughout many, many oil changes and clunky transmissionssince.

Sir H the Comet

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