Last week was one of those free HBO weekends, and I caught a movie based on a television show made popular by white women and gay men everywhere. In an effort to maintain my street cred, I won't disclose the title, but think pink cocktails and New York. Anywho, this movie depicted a woman throwing a fit because her hard-working husband didn't feel like hitting the club up on a Tuesday night. She cried when he bought her a flatscreen television as an anniversary present. She went on holiday with her girlfriends, made out with an old boyfriend, told her husband about it, and was surprised when he didn't pick her up from the airport. Personally, I was hoping he was at home, busily bleaching her couture, but, he was actually out buying her an enormous diamond ring. In this cinematic stink-bomb that portrayed so much of what I hate about Hollywood values, this irritated me the most. It's not so much the story; I understand that it's fiction, and I don't think the public would be interested in watching a movie about, say, my typical day of diapers and dinner prep. No, what leaves me in disgust are the unrealistic "romantic" expectations such screenplays evoke. Women are being bamboozled, and men are paying the price. Just so we're clear, fortysomething trollops are losers, no, you are not a Carrie, and chances are, your man is too busy living his life to plan sweeping, romantic gestures (as are you).
In the seven years we've been married, my husband has brought home flowers once. Is that bad? I think it's all a matter of perspective. In seven years, he's brought home one bouquet of flowers-- he's also brought home 225 paychecks. He's never written sonnets, surprised me with jewelry, or tattooed my name on his lower back. Yet, my SUV is detailed, my lawn is mown, and, as I write this, we're watching my Huskers lose while his Longhorns still have a quarter to play. Perspective. What's the big deal about flowers, anyway? If you ask me, flowers aren't used to bolster your relationship, flowers are used to make other women feel bad about theirs. Otherwise, all arrangements would be sent to homes instead of offices, and I'd never have to see another rose bouquet iphone pic on Facebook. Certainly, some folks like to buy such things for their significant others, and others genuinely appreciate the thought and beauty of flowers. This is fine. I'm just saying that an empty desk on your birthday doesn't necessarily mean your relationship is doomed for failure.
If you need or want specific things out of your guy, tell him. I know, it's crazy, he should totally be able to read your mind, but take it from a girl who woke up one Christmas morning hoping for a rock on her finger, and went to bed Christmas night with a stuffed hippopotamus and a chip on her shoulder-- spelling out your expectations is the best way to go. Every year, without fail, I get exactly what I want for my birthday. My secret? Every year, without fail, I send my husband a list of exactly what I want for my birthday. For those of you thinking, "But I want him to surprise me," reference the aforementioned hippopotamus anecdote.
Finally, let's be honest. If you're like me, you're more attuned to your significant other than he is to you. So, tell me, when's the last time you sat through a Dr Who marathon, or enthusiastically attended a car show, or even worse just because you knew it would mean a lot to him? I don't know about you, but I'm willing to forego hearts and chocolates if it means never having to discuss fantasy football in bed. Perspective.
