The Tortures of Dating
By Lucy Torres
These past weeks, amongst the usual craziness of a new semester starting, there has been one predominant thought that keeps gnawing at me- the issue of dating. What is it? How do people do this? Why?
I’m a stranger and newcomer to this phenomenon. There is a concept called “dating” in this society that is prevalent among us and that people take part in. It’s frightening and exciting and you have to be crazy to really do it. It appears to me like a cult. I have yet to join but everyone else is a part of it and I have yet to understand it.
Looking at it as an outsider, I think it’s hilarious that everyone goes crazy over this, trying new people and situations for the sake of finding “the one.” As someone who is newly single, I find it exhilaratingly terrifying. The nervousness, the anxiety...It would ravish my poor paranoid heart to even think about taking part in this world of dating.
Just the thought of constantly putting yourself out there -waiting for a phone call, the good night kiss- all tantalizing events, makes me want to vomit with anxiety. I can’t imagine doing this over and over again to the point of insanity.
What is a date exactly? Is it getting together with someone you like? Is a date a date when you kiss or is no kiss required in order to call it an official date? What is the usual notion of what a date is and when do you kiss? I know it is all subjective, but there have to be some rules somewhere, right?
Not that I particularly care for them. This whole concept is beyond the borders of my abstract mind.
Think about it. After the first date, which you feel went quite well, he calls you the day after, which despite my ignorance, seems to be a good sign. He wants to see you as soon as possible, also something that appears to me as a good thing. You see each other again. Nothing happens. The chemistry feels different. It’s not nearly as intense as it was the first time around. He doesn’t call you for a few days. Day one you think that maybe he’s giving you space. Day two you’re convinced he’s not calling you because he dropped his phone in the toilet. Day three you start playing sad music that is reminiscent of the relationship you two could have had had he called you back. All along, you have the terrible feeling you’ve made a fool of yourself for even believing in this whole dating scene. You start analyzing everything you did to make sure you didn’t mess it up. Like having spinach stuck in your teeth while talking to him or having that disgusting eye crust that is always a major turn off. You know you talk too much sometimes but he seemed interested, or so you thought. It starts eating at you until every memory you have of that night seems to be bombarded by the image of you yakety-yacking through the entire date with something wedged between your teeth and in your eye. You grow paranoid. You’re sick of this. You tell yourself NOT to call him whatever you do. No way. You unsuccessfully console yourself with the idea that he’s the one missing out on you. And you promise yourself never to do this ever again.
You start asking yourself why you subjected yourself to this ridiculous idea of meeting up with someone and attempt something romantic with them. The very light buzz left over from the date is now gone and the weight of rejection makes you feel like the idiot you’ve always believed you were. You think about that book, He’s Just Not That Into You and apply all aspects of what Oprah illustrated because, of course, you didn’t read the book yourself since you once believed dating was the absurdist thing you could involve yourself with. Now look at you.
Then he calls you. Date three is this weekend. The torture continues.