They're baffled by my singleness. A smart, pretty, nice girl like me, a girl with so many interests and enthusiasms, a cool job, a loving family. And
let's say it: money. They knit their eyebrows and pretend to think of men they can set me up with, but we all know there's no one left, no one good
left, and I know that they secretly think there's something wrong with me, something hidden away that makes me unsatisfiable, unsatisfying.
The ones who are not soul-mated – the ones who have settled – are even more dismissive of my singleness: It's not that hard to find someone to
marry, they say. No relationship is perfect, they say – they, who make do with dutiful sex and gassy bedtime rituals, who settle for TV as
conversation, who believe that husbandly capitulation – yes, honey, okay, honey – is the same as concord. He's doing what you tell him to do
because he doesn't care enough to argue, I think. Your petty demands simply make him feel superior, or resentful, and someday he will fuck his
pretty, young coworker who asks nothing of him, and you will actually be shocked. Give me a man with a little fight in him, a man who calls me on
my bullshit. {But who also kind of likes my bullshit.} And yet: Don't land me in one of those relationships where we're always pecking at each other,
disguising insults as jokes, rolling our eyes and 'playfully' scrapping in front of our friends, hoping to lure them to our side of an argument they could
not care less about. Those awful if only relationships: This marriage would be great if only … and you sense the if only list is a lot longer than either
of them realizes.
let's say it: money. They knit their eyebrows and pretend to think of men they can set me up with, but we all know there's no one left, no one good
left, and I know that they secretly think there's something wrong with me, something hidden away that makes me unsatisfiable, unsatisfying.
The ones who are not soul-mated – the ones who have settled – are even more dismissive of my singleness: It's not that hard to find someone to
marry, they say. No relationship is perfect, they say – they, who make do with dutiful sex and gassy bedtime rituals, who settle for TV as
conversation, who believe that husbandly capitulation – yes, honey, okay, honey – is the same as concord. He's doing what you tell him to do
because he doesn't care enough to argue, I think. Your petty demands simply make him feel superior, or resentful, and someday he will fuck his
pretty, young coworker who asks nothing of him, and you will actually be shocked. Give me a man with a little fight in him, a man who calls me on
my bullshit. {But who also kind of likes my bullshit.} And yet: Don't land me in one of those relationships where we're always pecking at each other,
disguising insults as jokes, rolling our eyes and 'playfully' scrapping in front of our friends, hoping to lure them to our side of an argument they could
not care less about. Those awful if only relationships: This marriage would be great if only … and you sense the if only list is a lot longer than either
of them realizes.
( Gillian Flynn )
[ Gone Girl ]
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