Trading Places?

Today I write in efforts to represent myself and all my single ladies (now put ya hands up!). Look, I am fully aware and have accepted the perks of feminism. I’m not going to go on a bra strike, or try to argue the notion that men and women are equal, because nowhere on this planet is that actually true–so, I apologize in advance to all the females who feel we’ve reached that milestone. We haven’t. Regardless of how gender roles have changed over time, or how they haven’t, what I really want to talk about has mostly to do with what I’ve noticed in the past few months with myself and with some of my good friends. Boys: listen up. I, for one, am all about taking initiative when I need to. In fact, I have been told by members of the opposite sex that it is super-duper attractive when a girl makes the first move, in any respect.

But give me a break here. I’m not so negative to claim chivalry is dead. Because it isn’t. My doors are sometimes still opened for me, my seats pulled out, my shopping bags whisked out of my aching hands, yada yada. Here’s what I don’t get, though. What happened to the bold boys? What happened to being swept off my feet? Why am I being asked if YOU look fat in those jeans? I don’t really care, do I? I have a reputation for being some sort of a Mama Bear to my close girl friends. They come to me for advice, they come to vent, they seek insight. I usually have answers, but on this topic, I don’t even know what hope I can offer because I’m losing it myself.

As much as females enjoy making SOME decisions or possessing SOME control in this so-called ”new” society we’ve built across decades of submissiveness, would some of you please grow a pair? I’ve already given you my best bedroom eyes, for the love of God. Grab my hand. Take control. Give me something to be curious about; reel me in, even if you aren’t exactly sure what you’re going to do. We like mystery, too, gentlemen. Give us a challenge. Please don’t give me a “Oh, yeah, you look nice tonight,” and then boyishly sway from side to side the rest of the evening contemplating if you got it right. You clearly haven’t, because I’ve either rolled my eyes or yawned at the boring bullshit you call your ”game”. Take me by the waist, peck me on the cheek; sheesh, even body language you emit my direction from across the room gives me something to look forward to.

Boys, I’m not going to give you a lecture about “independent women”, because sometimes I don’t want to be in control. Sometimes, I need you to TELL me where we’re going to have dinner, TELL me where we’re going out afterwards. I’ve been making decisions all day; I just want to take a load off. After I go home tonight, text me something saucy. Let me know you’re thinking about me. Don’t call me the next day with some insecure garbage questioning why you didn’t have it in you to do what you’ve been talking about day in and day out. UGH! Keep me engaged. Otherwise, I’m gone. Really. Out the door. Not interested!! There’s only so much I can do to let you know you have the green light.

Now, with that in mind, keep it respectful; please? I’m definitely not inviting you to put into action the animalistic images you’ve let your testosterone muster up in your mind in last night’s steamy dream. My face is still up here, thanks. Keep it classy, but keep in mind moderation in anything is what we want from you. Strike that balance and if we’ve still managed to remain interested, we’re all yours. But please please, don’t just stand there. Don’t expect me to take your hand all the time. Twirl me around on the dance floor, even if you’re not the greatest dancer. Make the move. I kinda sorta maybe want it, too, I just don’t want to be wearing the pants while we’re dancing. Sigh.

Thoughts? Questions?

Remember–I say what I mean and mean what I say. Is it too much to ask you to honor that with a little reciprocity?