13 April 2014
Over a glass of red wine and spinach artichoke dip, my grandma wished me a happy twenty third birthday. "You know, I got married at twenty three" she said as her chip broke with the weight of the dip. It was her canny way of suggesting that it's time my father trade me for some goats. Of course I took her comment with a grain of salt, our worlds are drastically different, but I know I'm not the first twenty-something to feel relationship pressure.
Between our relationship diet of Cosmopolitan articles, Text-Roulette, Facebook, and Tinder, I'm not quite sure how anyone finds someone worthy of their family goats. As I watch my grandmother dig out the other half of her lost chip, I decided to let her comment roll off my back because our worlds are too far apart.
Instead, I've decided to give her some insight, insight into the modern dating world. The world that seems to prefer perfection over authenticity. The one that makes you drop your hand because your worried about sweaty palms. The world that relies on self help dating books and dumbing yourself down.
So grandma, modern dating goes a little something like this:
I just got your text, it's 9:05. I read it three times, wracking my brain for a witty response. 9:12 rolls around and I settle on something flirty. I press Send, letting my phone fall where it may. We all do it; we put on a little show for ourselves to prove that we are not attached to the person on the other end. While I wait for your response, I begin flipping through your Facebook photos. It isn't until I reach picture 310, that endearing photo of your awful hair cut from 2007, that you finally respond with a single word. Something to the effect of "ok" or "ya..."
Modern dating is like a staring contest. You see, we had a few beers at a bar that smelled like moldy carpets and tobacco. You laughed at my jokes and kissed me under a street lamp at the end of the night. The next day, you invited me to play tennis but when i went in for a kiss you pulled away. You text me something coy and I haven't a clue. Each of us are waiting for the other person to blink, or simply ask what's going on.
You tell your friends what happened with high hopes that they can crack the code. Instead, they tell you that you broke rule number 67 of 500,000; your not playing "Hard To Get."
So grandma, do you understand why I haven't been traded for goats? I have sweaty palms and I'm not afraid to admit that I think that I am smart. I dance off rhythm and sometimes, i'll admit I even fart. So grandma, until that person who loves me for every inch of me, I won't get married at twenty three.