The Art of Sizing Up
I know we said here at Blog Day Afternoon that we would have a "no politics, no romance" forum, but this blog is my forum to bitch about life to an infinite internet audience, and for pete's sake I'm as single as it gets. And besides, this post isn't about romance, it's about dating. "Dating" ain't romantic.
Since I've been dating for...oh, about eons now, I've had my share of bad and some good dates. Dating is about the art of sizing someone up, and it's far from romantic or charming (unless your date tries to be). American dating has a bad tendency to be all about consumerism, since we're all rugged individualists looking for our ideal mate, disconnected from familial and social networks of the past (I'm sure I can be more articulate about this once I read that "bowling alone" book). We size people up on the first date to see if they meet our personal checklists for happiness. Higher education? Check. Loves dogs? Check. Drinks soy milk? Check. Now don't get me wrong, chemistry is everything, but sometimes chemistry doesn't get a chance to come through when you're too busy sizing someone up. Of course everyone wants to know whether the other person is looking for the same things they are, like a serious relationship or an extramarital fling, depending on the circumstances. But here comes my big complaint: men really aren't subtle about it, and it drives me crazy. I've gotten so frustrated about dating, not just because it's depressing, but because you feel like you're a kilo of potatoes at the Greek farmer's market that some old giagia is haggling over. Today's lunch date (otherwise favorable except for the following comments) was just a perfect example of that: on the first date he asks: are you ready to settle down? With that look in his eyes that says, "I know you're a wild and free single-twenty-something who couldn't possibly want to settle down ." When I say I'm ready for a relationship he asks whether I want children. But the subtext is: Are you the one to bear my children?
When I was in college , I wasn't one of those "feminists" chalking "subvert the patriarchy" on the sidewalk in front of the fraternities, but I did feel a little twinge of the partriarchy today at lunch: Could you be the one to carry one my bloodline?
I know we said here at Blog Day Afternoon that we would have a "no politics, no romance" forum, but this blog is my forum to bitch about life to an infinite internet audience, and for pete's sake I'm as single as it gets. And besides, this post isn't about romance, it's about dating. "Dating" ain't romantic.
Since I've been dating for...oh, about eons now, I've had my share of bad and some good dates. Dating is about the art of sizing someone up, and it's far from romantic or charming (unless your date tries to be). American dating has a bad tendency to be all about consumerism, since we're all rugged individualists looking for our ideal mate, disconnected from familial and social networks of the past (I'm sure I can be more articulate about this once I read that "bowling alone" book). We size people up on the first date to see if they meet our personal checklists for happiness. Higher education? Check. Loves dogs? Check. Drinks soy milk? Check. Now don't get me wrong, chemistry is everything, but sometimes chemistry doesn't get a chance to come through when you're too busy sizing someone up. Of course everyone wants to know whether the other person is looking for the same things they are, like a serious relationship or an extramarital fling, depending on the circumstances. But here comes my big complaint: men really aren't subtle about it, and it drives me crazy. I've gotten so frustrated about dating, not just because it's depressing, but because you feel like you're a kilo of potatoes at the Greek farmer's market that some old giagia is haggling over. Today's lunch date (otherwise favorable except for the following comments) was just a perfect example of that: on the first date he asks: are you ready to settle down? With that look in his eyes that says, "I know you're a wild and free single-twenty-something who couldn't possibly want to settle down ." When I say I'm ready for a relationship he asks whether I want children. But the subtext is: Are you the one to bear my children?
When I was in college , I wasn't one of those "feminists" chalking "subvert the patriarchy" on the sidewalk in front of the fraternities, but I did feel a little twinge of the partriarchy today at lunch: Could you be the one to carry one my bloodline?
