Yes, another movie title, one involving an extremely dating dreamy sequence with John Cusack as the lovable Lloyd Dobler, standing outside of Sloane’s window with a boombox in a trenchcoat. Which objectively, should be extremely disconcerting on several levels, especially the trenchcoat, but it’s not because we’re in Teen Movie Land and this is actually totes adorable. One of my personal favorites, mostly because it involves an intense fear of flying at the end. (Of which I am akin. Last bad flight, had a death ray grip on the guy next to me. Who subsequently became an FFJD fan.)
This is less an exercise in realizing that an 80′s heartthrob had the movie potential to be a flasher in Central Park, and more about well….saying what you really mean.
For some reason, and let me break out the sweeping generalizations from my purse (which has gotten much lighter thanks to this past weekend in New York, the real “city,” as opposed to those who use the term “the city” to denote Washington, of which I am averse. While in NYC I almost became the Foursquare mayor of 16 Handles and also realized that there are a lot of cute boys, but they’re probably interns), we don’t say what we mean.
Chicks, I mean.
Well, we spend lots of time in backhanded fights where we use the term “I meannnn” as a sort of passive-aggressive stand-in for “you should know what I mean you stupid bitch”. Which often goes over well, involves some drunken reconciliation probably in a bathroom (because yes, badum ch that’s where shit goes down), and then everything is hunky dory.
But I’m not sure why, especially in the realm of dating, we cannot say what we actually mean.
For example:
What we say: No, I don’t mind if you pass up this intellectual movie I’ve really been wanting to see to binge drink with your friends and discuss the relative hotness of Olivia Wilde vs. Meghan Fox.
What we mean: I am offended. You’re choosing your friends over me. I’m hurt. And I’m going to be a total snot for the following week until you realize what you did, and you’re not going to understand why I’m upset but you better know. And no, I’m not giving you a clue.
What we say: I’ll have an egg white omelette, with salad on the site.
What we mean: I’m going to eat mine, and then all of your fries, but it’s not as bad because it’s from your plate not mine. Plus everything is a lot more delicious if it’s not your own. Which means that I’m also going to have a bite of your burger. Do you want some of my egg white omelette with mushrooms, onions, and definitely no cheese? Didn’t think so.
What we say: I’m flexible, sure, we can play it by ear.
What we mean: I need to know where we’re meeting, when we’re meeting, what I’m wearing, potentially if we’re eating, what snacks I should pack, and whether or not this relationship is headed somewhere serious. Otherwise, I’m probably going to freak out. Also, when are you introducing me to your parents? I’d like to write it in my planner.
This is just a small sampling of the things that we say, but don’t really mean. IN fact, we often mean the total opposite. I for one, have used all of the above in one way or another, dilly dallying around shooting from the hip. Not saying what you mean or think usually just descends into an even larger fight, that transpires after you’ve spent all your time stewing and BBMing Becca about how annoying said NJB is.
Why are we so afraid of saying what we really mean?
Instead of saying what we’re feeling or thinking, we just expect a guy to know what we mean. Because it’s so clear among women. But I guess objectively, no, most people wouldn’t realize that what you feel is the opposite of what comes out of your mouth. Although this really makes almost zero sense.
Men are from Mars, and women are from Mixed Signals That Are Totally Undecipherable. Men are not subtle creatures (excuse me while I continue to pull the generalizations out of my purse, and oops a tampon fell out along the way, at the feet of the hottest guy within a 200 foot radius, obviously). Maybe we’re afraid that if we say what we’re thinking, people won’t like us or will think we’re a bitch or too blunt. Or we’re taught to suppress our true feelings for what people want to hear.
Either way, this isn’t doing anything for anyone. Especially because now I’m sitting here with a figurative egg white omelet instead of what I really wanted.
But really, can I have a fry? NO, one of yours.
Email: meredith@theffjd.com
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