I bet...

Here’s the thing. Should the day come when someone I’m interested in reciprocates that interest, I’m rather convinced I won’t believe it. Sure, it’s partly a confidence thing. And yes, it’s sort of because my history with men’s interests is shoddy at best. But given those two factors, the movies have taught me there’s a third candidate for doubt: the bet.

Think about it. Think about the movies we grew up with. Whenever a guy fell for a girl, it was the result of a bet. 

She’s All That. Freddie Prinze Jr. only even LOOKS at Rachel Lee Cook’s character after someone bets that he can’t make her prom queen.

10 Things I Hate About You. Heath Ledger has no interest in Julia Stiles until JGL asks him to woo her in order to date her sister.

Whatever It Takes. Shane West bets someone about something to get someone else and ends up with Marla Sokoloff. No one remembers this movie, barely even me.

So how is this going to factor into my life? Let’s see.

In college, I met a guy at my friend’s 21st birthday party. He followed me around all night and it seemed like he was honestly pursuing me. He was after me to leave with him - I could barely remember his name. But I did remember the location of the bathroom. And so that’s where we went. The bathroom. To make out. Not one of my proudest moments.

What, perhaps, I didn’t know was that earlier in the night his friend had turned to him and bet him $50 if he did one simple thing: Got a girl he’s never met before to want to take his pants off.

And so, after about 30 minutes of knowing each other and only ten minutes of less-than-enjoyable making out, this guy asked me if I wanted him to take his pants off. I laughed. It had to be a joke. It wasn’t. He was serious. And perhaps it’s because he had money riding on the whole situation.

Looking back, it really seems to be the only logical conclusion. And looking forward, I can see the same thing going down (pun MAYBE intended).

But what if instead of leaving the bathroom feeling awkward I stuck with the situation. Not in the idea that I would ACTUALLY take his pants off, but in some way. Giving him my number. Walking to the dining hall. I don’t know - something. What could have happened? Maybe his friend would have sweetened the pot. Maybe he would have seen me again to try his luck. Maybe he would have fallen for me.

I mean it isn’t out of the question. But really, in real life, would a girl want to fall in love with a guy as the result of a bet? Would you want to know that a guy was pushed toward you with the promise of money?

Desperate times don’t call for measures that desperate. 

Taking a stand

There are many reasons women resist the allure of the one night stand. 

It’s against their moral code.  

They’re waiting for marriage. 

They need emotional intimacy to reach physical intimacy.  

They’re terrified of STD’s. 

They’re even more terrified of getting pregnant.

They’re even MORE terrified this strange man has no skills in the kitchen for breakfast the next day.

For me, there was always another reason: I didn’t think it was an option. I legitimately didn’t think anyone wanted to even try for a one night stand with me. I was the awkward girl in the corner. I was commenting on how much I hated birds instead of telling them how big their biceps are. I did not consider myself one night stand material. At least not for the types of guys that sane girls go home with. I was reasonably confident about my ability to pick up the fangled-toothed man in the opposite corner.

However, as I’ve hit up the bar scene in the city, I’ve realized that this image of myself isn’t quite right. Sure, maybe I won’t be able to snag the Justin Timberlake look-alike, but there are some reasonably attractive guys that have propositioned me. 

The scant times it happened in college, I always had the excuse of a roommate. I have far too much Catholic guilt to even think about kicking someone out of their own bedroom for my own pleasure. After college, I lived at home in Jersey with my parents and spent my life on NJ Transit - talk about a buzz kill.

But now that I’m living on my own, logistics are no longer an issue. Which means I actually need to think about the matter at hand. And my feelings are anything but clear-cut.

All of the reasons that other women employ are completely justified, don’t get me wrong. I have a moral code. I do think that emotional intimacy ups the ante when it comes to the physical stuff. But the marriage principle is antiquated, and the STD’s and babies can be prevented with science. Breakfast? Well, the jury is still out on that one.

I usually live my life by a simple question: what do you think you’ll regret more? It’s a pretty sound code of conduct for a twenty-something. I don’t want to be the forty-something talking about all the things I COULD have done in my twenties. And Ryan Gosling makes a compelling argument in the movie “Crazy Stupid Love,” when he asks Emma Stone whether she’ll ever regret going home alone over going home with the handsome stranger from the bar.

Of course, he’s also Ryan Gosling. And if there’s one thing every woman can agree on it’s the fact that they would NEVER regret sleeping with Ryan Gosling. But barring such extraordinary circumstances, it’s impossible to know what I would be feeling the next morning. Would I be ashamed of myself for letting my guard down like that with someone I know nothing about? I don’t know. Knowing that I’m looking for something special with someone - knowing that guilt is part of my genetic makeup - what would my self-worth be after I cross that bridge? 

It’s possible french toast may not even fix that one.

The stronger sex

Generations have painted men as the stronger sex. Not just because they hunted and gathered, but because they don’t get emotional. 

For years, people said a woman couldn’t be president because of this. “What if she gets emotional while she’s PMS’ing and brings us to war?” Of course, that’s the extreme macho pig talking, but it’s still a joke that was told more times than any feminist would care to count. 

For years, we have been painted by men as the weaker sex. We’re needy. We think with our hearts. We lack logic. We can’t be scientists. Blah blah blah. Or should I say womp womp womp, a la the droning teacher in Charlie Brown (also a woman - you’d never see a man portrayed in such a way).

But upon further dissection, I will go on record to say that that is nothing but a load of crap.

I might sit here and talk about my feelings. I may be irrational at times because of them. But the very fact that I have the balls - yes, balls - to admit that I have feelings makes me stronger than any man would care to admit. They can bury their emotions, think with their dicks and still call themselves strong. We take on our own feelings and try to figure out theirs, try to reconcile both. Tell me that multitasking doesn’t count for anything.

A friend of mine is currently trying to figure out how to handle a situation with a guy she’s dating. She’s dealing with a full plate at work, grasps at a social life, and a guy who will disappear for a few days with no warning. And yet, even though she’s dealing with all of these moving parts, she’s afraid that if she tells the guy how she’s feeling she’ll scare him away.

We’re always afraid we’ll scare them away. Which begs the question - why would someone so strong scare so easily? We have to sacrifice what we want and how we want it for the whims of the opposite sex. I’ve seen my female friends do it time and again. I’ve had out of body experiences watching myself do it. It’s not fair. And at the same time... what choice do we have? All becoming lesbians and merely dating each other? As Vera Farmiga’s character said in ‘Up in the Air,’ “We’re no picnic ourselves.”

But at the end of the day, what makes our lives easier? Pretending to be subordinate for a chance at what we really want? Or rising up and quite possibly ending up with none of it? People always tell women we can’t have it all - men rarely hear the phrase. But sometimes it takes a stronger person to accept the shortcomings. And for that I suppose we can silently raise our arms in victory.