This rant is inspired by Little Bird’s thread, in which she complains that the man with whom she’s infatuated has slept with four women already (and him only 20 years old). How can she be in love (after nine whole days) with a guy who’s first time won’t be with her?
I’ve never seen a more subtly damaging belief than the myth of the soulmate. Every woman and teenage girl I know who’s lusted for her soulmate, who’s waited for Mr. Right, who’s holding out for her prince, has without exception dated complete assholes, and lied to themselves about it in the cause of hanging on desperately to the fantasy that she’ll find true and everlasting love.
Here’s a few clues:
[list=1]
[li] If you have him removed by the police from the hallway of your apartment building at 4:00 a.m., because he’s drunk, screaming, and banging on your door, then he’s not your soulmate, no matter how often you tell yourself that he is.[/li][li] If he still hasn’t left his wife after promising to do so for four years, no matter how well his used car lot is doing, then he’s not your soulmate.[/li][li] If he hits you, then he’s not your soulmate.[/li][li] If you get pregnant, and he takes a long vacation in Mexico (or prison), then he’s not your soulmate.[/li][li] If it’s your paycheck that he’s spending on beer, pot, and games for the Nintendo he plays all day, then he’s not your soulmate.[/li][li] If you’re constantly complaining to everyone about how badly he treats you, then he’s not your soulmate.[/li][li] If you cry all the time now, it doesn’t matter if he’s psychic, he’s not your fucking soulmate![/li][/list=1]
Every clue in that list is the actual experience of some woman known to me.
When do girls buy into the bullshit idea that fairytales come true? When do they fail to realize that being in love with someone is simply being in love with someone, and not the culmination of a millenial arrangement of stars guiding them to their perfect mate? When does the nubbin of self-preservation that most people grow fail to pop in them, causing them to grab the biggest loser in arm’s reach and cast him as the lead in their personal Harlequin romance?
I live in southern Wisconsin. For each of the last three years, the national teen pregnancy has dropped, except here, where it’s risen every year. I’ve never run into so many starry eyed twenty year olds who signed abstinence contracts in high school, and are now single mothers. They all took it in the ass in high school because “that’s not sex” (Wisconsin must be the assfuckingest state in the union), and they wanted their first time to be special, with that special guy. Without exception, every single mother with whom I’ve discussed this said that they thought that the father was that special guy. Without exception, the father is only in the same state if he’s in prison for some petty, yet exceedingly violent crime.
Of course, every daughter of one of these embittered fantasists is bribed with jewelry to sign the same abstinence contract.
Little Bird, if you’re reading this, pay attention: sex is an activity, not a declaration of love. There’s nothing holy about being a virgin, and nothing slutty about not being one. The cherubs in heaven aren’t looking out for you. Casual sex can be affectionate and respectful. First times usually suck because you don’t know what you’re doing. Relationships are better or worse depending on the character of the people involved; they’re not written in the stars. There’s no soulmate for you, no Mr. Right, no Prince Charming, just guys (or girls–not every soulmate listed in the clues was male) with whom you’ll get along better or worse, with whom you’ll have better or worse relationships, whom you’ll love more or love less. When you’re busy floating on cloud nine, remember to check where the ground is now and then.
