September 2012
"Paper Planes" by M.I.A
"Molly, I am not putting myself on Tinder" I said to my friend of thirteen years, Molly Kelly.
"Why not" she demanded, shutting my laptop lid before continuing on emphatically
"What's the use of having all of this technology then? It's like men any time of the day or night, or women if you want. You can window shop like you're buying a cute sweater. No down payment needed. Return if it doesn't fit or it's not the size you want. You get me? So, again, why not?"
I looked at her and rolled my eyes "Because it's weird."
It wasn't just weird to me, it was a straight up falsehood. A lie concocted to make people feel less lonely with the least amount of work possible. Trading depth of knowledge and intimacy with copious shallow quantities of both. This tricks your brain into thinking that you're getting more attached than you actually are. Plus, I am super paranoid. I don't want any creepy ass men knowing where I live, even if it is within fifty miles in the search bar.
"That's why it's the best! I've had the best relationships off of dating apps" Molly exclaimed happily, taking a gulp from her steaming mug of coffee and promptly swearing as she burned her tongue.
"Hookups on tinder don't count as relationships" I persisted snottily, maybe a little too quick with that comeback.
She rolled her blue eyes so hard I could hear them, fanning her tongue while telling me off in the way that only your best friend could.
"Hey, while you're busy having solo adventures with the boyfriend in your drawer, I don't need anything but a hookup to make me feel better. I got myself covered, I just want someone around for fun. They can't handle that, so I let them think it's all their idea. They can't stand the fact that a woman can act just like a stereotypical man, and while a man gets a reward for it, she gets shamed. So whatever, go ahead and judge me."
She explained the deep rooted topic of sexism so eloquently, her shoulders shrugging casually as she ate a handful of chips. Male fragility didn't surprise me one bit. Molly has been around competitive men her whole life, and nearly all of them seem to build their self confidence on the backs of women who they deem as weaker simply because of their genitals.
Molly is perpetually in training because she plays professional soccer; she is a gold medal Olympian two times over. She is confident, smart, and a raging extrovert who craves attention. She is rarely alone, always texting or connected to her phone.
She can run for inhuman amounts of time. My two mile morning triathlon is just a light warmup for her. I end up covered in a sheen of sweat, praying to the exercise gods to strike me down in a puddle of sweat and tears, meanwhile she's smiling while belting out show tunes at the top of her lungs.
She knows that she is an endless buffet of talent, beauty, and comedy; and she isn't afraid to show it. I'm proud that she isn't afraid to be herself, we need more proud Molly's in the world to make life interesting. I need her around because we are two sides to a coin, two equal bricks on a balance.
If she didn't have me around to ground her she would have catapulted into the pool of hedonism. Conversely, if I didn't have her I would be alone and rogue like a hermit: possibly stockpiling canned goods in an underground bunker.
"I'm not judging you, I'm just being a bitch; both of those reflect on me. I only need Henry. He's no work and he brings me just the right amount of pleasure" I explained moodily and succinctly.
She blew a raspberry at me
"Silicone is no substitute for the real thing lady."
I begged to differ
YOU ARE READING
The Truth of the Matter
RomanceTruth graduated magna cum laude from her masters program, landed a job that keeps her up to date with her Netflix subscription, and keeps her best friend grounded. But when she finds someone who can keep up with her caustic wit and crack into her s...
