Monday, August 12, 2019

Whose Job is it Anyway?

I was a teenager in the 1980s, not the 1950s, but even then, my mother sounded like Lorraine McFly in Back to the Future, putting down Marty’s girlfriend Jennifer Parker for being the one to call him. (To be honest, calling him three times in the space of a few hours when they’d already been together after school is really excessive.) “I don't like her, Marty. Any girl who just calls up a boy is just asking for trouble…. I think it's terrible! Girls chasing boys. When I was your age I never chased a boy or called a boy or sat in a parked car with a boy.” (Of course later we find out that Lorraine was pretty hot to trot, or maybe it was just Marty was so irresistible, she couldn’t help herself.)

My mom was the same way, warning me against chasing boys, telling me that any boy I called would see me as desperate, and opining that if a boy liked you, he’d call you, so if he hadn’t called, it meant he didn’t like you, so why bother calling him?

I didn’t listen to my mother, but she had a point. The guys I went after were not as into me as the guys who went after me. Still, it was an easier time then. Men were still expected to make the first move. Women were expected to be asked. It was such a big deal for a woman to ask out a man that an entire dance was dedicated to it.

Now… not so much.

Of course, this is both good and bad. Women are expected to go after everything they want in life – sports, jobs, etc. Of course they should go after a man they’re interested in. At the same time, as the term “emotional labor” becomes more and more prevalent in recognition of how married women run the household, even in households of two earners, it’s interesting to note that this phenomenon is creeping into the dating scene as well. Men don’t just want wives who’ll arrange their social life, make their doctor’s appointments, sign up their kids for school and make the grocery shopping lists… they want girlfriends who’ll make the first move, plan their social lives, come up with creative dates, and keep the passion fires burning.

It starts online. There’s even a dating site where women have to make the first move. Yes, it’s based on the premise that online dating can be dangerous for women, that men will harass them, and of course this is one hundred percent true. But it’s also true that many men can’t even be bothered to get someone to take a decent picture of them, to write out a profile, or to send a message that says more than “Hi.” Why have a website where only women can make the first move when so many of us are forced to anyway?

It’s possible that just as many women are equally brief online. I wouldn’t know; I don’t see their profiles. But I’ve lost track of the number of profiles I’ve clicked on, wanting to know more about a man, only to be told to “ask me anything! I’m an open book!” So much easier to put the onus on the woman to ask questions, rather than taking the time to write out a profile explaining who they are and what they are looking for in a mate. And there’s the old “I’m new here; will update later” from four months ago.

Last week an attractive guy “Hi!” ed. Usually I ignore these brief ones. But he was cute, so I sent back “hey there.”

I heard nothing back.

Men, you’re not just competing with the other lazy men on the site. You’re competing with our friends, with Netflix, with Meet-Up groups. There are so many other things we can do rather than wait for Mr. “What do you want to know about me” to put together a few sentences to describe himself.

If you’re not going to put any effort into your profile, I don’t think you’ll put in any effort to meeting me.

I was supposed to have a date tonight. I reached out to him; said I’d liked his profile and please check out mine and write back if he liked what he read. He said he did. We made plans for tonight. This afternoon, he begged off sick. I was, of course, understanding.

I’m not expecting to hear back from him again. Oh well. It’s rainy tonight, and I’ve heard good things about that Netflix series “Typewriter.” I’ll be fine.

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