Hannah Bernard - The Dating Resolution

“Whether true love exists or not, the truth is that the real reason we subject ourselves to this is because it’s expected of us. Because we’re considered inferior if we’re not part of a couple. We’re caving in to social pressure, and for what?”

Ellen opened her mouth, but Hailey barged on, not allowing her to interrupt. She was on a roll. She’d spent her entire miserable, lonely—even in a crowd—New Year’s Eve composing this manifesto in her head and Ellen would hear it whether she liked it or not. “Broken hearts, that’s what we get for trying! Lousy dates, broken hearts and plummeting self-esteem each time one of the many idiots in the world displays his true colors.” She leaned toward Ellen and the tiny table creaked alarmingly. “Don’t you see? We’re not doing this because we want to, but to fulfill the role society expects of us. It all comes back down to biology. Despite all our technological advances, modern man—modern woman—is still very much a slave of biology when it comes to happiness. When women aren’t mothers, they aren’t happy unless they are actively engaged in the pursuit of someone to father their child. It’s that simple.”

Ellen gave her a wry glance. “I knew it. You’ve been reading those feminist pseudoscience books again.”

“In a nutshell, my discovery is this…” She paused for dramatic emphasis. “There’s nothing wrong with being single.”

Ellen failed to look impressed. All she did was shrug. “As that seems to be our ongoing state, I should hope not.”

“But we feel there’s something wrong with it. It’s an instinctive feeling, almost like it’s a biological force programmed in our genes. And that’s exactly what it is. It is biological.”

“Good Lord, Hailey! You’re overcomplicating things. What’s wrong with wanting a partner in life? It’s just human.”

“Exactly. That’s my problem.”

“Your problem is being human? Well, welcome to the club.”

Hailey looked down and mumbled her next words. “You see, I’ve discovered something about myself, and I don’t like it.”

“What is it?”

Hailey took a deep breath before making her confession. “I’m a relationship addict.”

“Oh, God, more psychobabble.”

“I am!”

“Is that a terminal condition?”

Hailey glared at her friend. “Why do I always confide in you? Zero sympathy. Zero understanding. Worst of all, zero co-dependence. Aren’t you supposed to be my best friend?”

“Okay.” Ellen started piling stuff into her briefcase. “I’ll be good. Tell me about your relationship addiction.”

Hailey bit her lip. She probably sounded like she was being flippant about this, but the pain and humiliation of her self-discovery cut deep. “I am not happy unless I am in a relationship.”

“Come on! That’s not true!”

“It is! This is why I hurry into a relationship before I’m ready, before the guy is ready, before either one of us is sure this is what we want—before we even know each other. Then when we break up—for whatever reason that is—I rush to the next relationship, anxious to do it right this time. It’s a vicious cycle.”

Despite her promise, Ellen was rolling her eyes again. “Come on, Hailey, it’s not that dramatic.”

“Case in point. Dan. You never trusted him, did you?”

“Well…”

“You knew he was a rat long before I did. Long before I wanted to know. But I was so desperate to have it work out that I ignored all the hints, all the lies and deceit…”

“Love is blind—”

“No! Love is not blind. I’m blind. And I was on the rebound when I met him, remember? Things weren’t much better that time around, either. It’s a vicious cycle and I’ve been stuck in it.”

“Hailey, fess up, you’ve been watching those daytime psychobabble shows, haven’t you?”

Hailey crossed her arms on her chest and scowled at her friend. “Fine, fine, make fun of my brilliant theory. But it comes down to this. Will you support me in my decision?”

“A year with no dates?” Ellen shrugged. “Sure. Can’t hurt. A year is nothing. I’ve had longer dry spells than one year. Just make sure you always have plenty of chocolate on hand.”

“I’ve given up chocolate too.”

“You can’t give up chocolate and men, Hailey! That’s not a resolution, it’s self-torture!”

A good point. “You’re right. I’ll give up chocolate next year.”

Ellen snickered. “So, what happens after the year has passed? How is this going to help?”

Hailey shrugged. “After a year my mind will be clearer. I will have broken free of the cycle. I will be better able to sift through the mud.”

“Mud?”

“Men.”

“Mud equals men—and you still want one? Something isn’t adding up here.”

“When I get some distance, I will gain a new perspective. I might be able to tell real gold from fool’s gold. Or—” She shrugged. “This is also a possibility—I might have accepted the fact that Mr. Right is nothing but a romantic myth and that I’ll be a lot happier if I stop trying to create reality out of a pathetic girlish fantasy.”

Ellen grimaced as she pushed the stack of papers away and reached for her coffee cup again. “Ouch. I’d like to stick with fantasy, thank you.”

“Why build castles in the air if they’re just going to come crashing down on your head? I mean—why would we need a man to the level of being almost desperate for a relationship? We’re modern women. We can do anything we want. Right? Right?” It was a battle cry, but not surprisingly, it had little effect on Ellen.

“Uh…right.”

“Damn right! We can have companionship, friendship, a social life, a career, even children—whatever we want without bringing ‘love’ into it. We don’t need men!”

“Uh…Hailey…remember, that thing men are good for?”

“What?” Hailey stared at her friend, frowning. “Oh, that. Well, I’ll just have to pay for it, I guess.”

Ellen sputtered coffee. “Pay for it?”

Hailey raised an eyebrow. “Fixing roofs and leaking sinks and such, that’s what you meant, wasn’t it?”

“No.” Ellen shook her head for emphasis. “No. That’s not what I meant. You know very well that’s not what I meant.”

“Maybe I’ll just buy myself some tools.”

“Tools?”

Ellen looked intrigued now. When Hailey figured out why, she tilted her head back and looked up at the ceiling with an exaggerated expression of disgust. “You have such a dirty mind. I mean tools tools. You know, for fixing the roof and such.”

“Oh,” Ellen muttered. “Okay. Never mind, then.”

“Well, you’re right, there are things a woman can use a man for if you want to be old-fashioned and dependent and stick to traditional roles—but he is definitely not necessary. I’ll just go forth and purchase a cute little toolbox of my very own. I mean, it’s not like there’s any good reason why I shouldn’t be able to fix the roof myself.”

Ellen was looking confused now. “Which roof are we talking about, anyway?”

“A rhetorical roof.”

Ellen nodded. “Right. I think I had one of those once. It did leak. But you know, a toolbox isn’t going to whisper sweet nothings and cuddle you while you sleep.”

Hailey shook her head. “The cuddles come at too great a price. This will be great. I’ll make new friends, I’ll start taking classes and find myself new hobbies, and I can stop worrying about my love life, stop dreading every weekend—whether I have a date or not.” She leaned on the small desk, gesturing earnestly. “Over the holidays I started thinking—why am I doing this? Dating makes me miserable. I’m happiest when I take a break from all that. Unfortunately I never get away with it long, before someone has set me up, and I always agree to go, thinking this time it might be different. Why do we do that? Why are we so hung up on this ridiculous idea that there is a perfect guy for us somewhere out there? Where does this true love myth come from?”