Women.
We're our own worst enemy.
Worse than pessimistic friends, worse than that skinny bitch in the corner flirting with the Harry Connick Jr. look-alike that you've had your eye on all night, worse even than a vengeful ex-girlfriend, we girls can sabotage our happiness with our preponderance for over-analysis. It's a talent, when you think about it, even if it's not one we'd normally tout as a beneficial one, and a talent that seems uniquely suited to women, especially those in their mid-to-late 20's.
Let me give you an example.
Girl likes Boy. Girl emails Boy. Boy doesn't write back in the 30-minute requisite turnaround time. Girl assumes Boy hates her, has forgotten about her, has reconciled with his ex, and Girl slumps into major depression and quells her loss with a pint of Ben & Jerry's.
Girl rejects the theory of Occam's Razor, and instead of logically assuming that Boy is out of the office, in a client meeting, or that even Boy's email isn't working, Girl invents a preposterous yarn involving the sordid discovery of Girl's secret Kenny G. obsession, Swedish swimsuit model ex-girlfriends with breasts the size of large honeydew melons in the peak of ripeness, and a mass exodus to a pub with his buddies, involving many a Guinness and much laughter, at Girl's folly for thinking he liked her, to boot.
Talk about making a mountain out of a molehill, Girl's over-analysis mimics an Aaron Spelling cliffhanger during sweeps week as opposed to a 30-second commercial on auto insurance. Whereas the reality is usually no more complicated than an overflowing inbox, we've purchased the movie rights on the whole saga, casting ourselves as the tragic heroine, of course.
Though we make every effort to disguise these behaviors, and many may disagree with my next statement,
ALL. GIRLS. DO. IT.
I'm not proud of my girlish over-analysis, but it seems to be a hardwired thought process here to stay despite my active combative efforts. I don't WANT to re-read emails in a search for underlying messages that may provide fodder for the fire of boy-interest paranoia, especially since I know guys are much more simple than that. (And by simple, I mean "If he doesn't like you, you'll know.") And yet I, yet WE, do this, among other equally pointless behaviors.
We look for hidden meanings, disguised intentions, falsehoods, and interpret every exhaustion-driven succinct email as another nail in our proverbial relationship coffin. Whereas in the corporate world and even in our relationships with friends we exude competence and confidence, all it takes for our resolve to falter in our love life is a missed phone call or an email that doesn't include "talk to you later" or the equivalent.
How ridiculous we are, these creatures of Manolo-obsessed habit that we are, to put this much time and effort into decoding the mysterious interactions with the other gender. Because, face it, guys would NEVER put this much effort into decoding us. While we're told to put on an air of mystery, to treat our accessibility as a virtue, and people have made fortunes advising us in the art of playing hard to get, boys have somehow learned to see through the facade and understand, at least on a surface level, that what we're doing is playing games. And they go with it. Conversely, most guys are WYSIWYG - what you see is what you get, for you tech-lingo neophytes - and their intentions are basically obvious. If he wants to see you, he'll make plans to see you. If he wants to talk to you, he'll call (with the only rule followed is basically the 3-day waiting rule, if not the 3-date expectation mantra). And, God forbid he's found someone new or has tired of your beauty and charm (which, while being horrifically unjustified still seems to be possible. Shocking, I know!), you'll know. The calls will wane. The plans will be of the up-in-the-air variety. The emails will stop, as the signs are far more obvious than the omission of a ending salutation in an email.
There's drugs for everything these days, from impotence to obesity. If someone could just make a remedy for over-analysis, they'd make a goldmine.
But what would we do with all of that extra time?
Aubrey I couldn't have said it better myself!!! You are right we over analyize everything!!!! I too wish there was some sort of a pill that could stop this.
Have you heard back from him yet? And how is your trip going?
Posted by: paris | August 07, 2003 at 06:21 AM
OK, first, some clarification. This post really wasn't even about me! I just had checked my emails and had a few from girlfriends over-analyzing things and realized that I'm prone to do so myself. So (in this case!) wasn't waiting for "him" to call or write or whatever...just was something that was on my mind.
One more day in San Fran, kiddos...
Posted by: aubs | August 07, 2003 at 01:22 PM
Keep on going girl!!! When you get back to Atlanta why don't you come over for a roofie and a stiff shot of manjuice??? See you then. Blake
Posted by: Blake Mason | August 08, 2003 at 09:56 AM
I thought the desire to eat the entire container of Hagen-Das was woman's worst enemy.
Posted by: Jason | August 10, 2003 at 08:21 PM
Oh, it's so true, and this is one of my worst habits. *sigh*
Posted by: Tiff | August 15, 2003 at 11:34 AM
Oh my goodness! So embarrasingly true (even for 40-somethings). Sigh. One love of my life sums it succinctly when he knows I have been on some wild mental safari, he says "YOU THINK TOO MUCH."
Posted by: bbwbliss | August 20, 2003 at 02:07 PM