The Difference Between Men and Women
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 awhile neither of them is seeing anyone else.
And then, one evening when they’re driving home, a thought occurs to Elaine, and, without really thinking, she says it out loud: “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: Wow. Six months.
And Elaine is thinking: But, hey, I’m not 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 this means it was … let’s see … February when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the car dealers, which means … let me 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 going to have them look at this 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 and this thing is shifting like a garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves $600.
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 … scumbags.
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.
And Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I’ll give them a warranty. I’ll tell them to take their warranty and …
“Roger,” Elaine says out loud.
“What?” Roger says startled.
“Please don’t torture yourself like this,” she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. “Maybe I should never have … oh god, 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 15-second pause while Roger, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with one 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,” Elaine says.
“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.
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’d 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, so he figures it’s better if he doesn’t think about it.
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, every gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification. They will continue to discuss the subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite conclusions, but neither getting bored with it either.
Meanwhile, Roger, while playing racquetball with a mutual friend of his and Elaine’s, will pause just before serving, frown, and say, “Norm, did Elaine ever own a horse?”
And THAT’S the difference between men and women!