Like a plethora of other bloggers, I really like me some Grey’s Anatomy. As I was watching her, I couldn’t help but relate to her and to those who would view my actions as of late. In the show, Meredith is determined to have her cake and eat it too. She has an inability to choose between two guys, so instead she plays them against each other. Now, this is a TV show and sure, here two men would wantonly fight for a woman with such squinty eyes and squeamish decision making. But in the real world, this is not so. But I understand her…and she should also be slapped a couple of times.
I get exactly where Meredith is coming from, but not even in the show it’s expressly stated. Here’s the secret: We want men to fight for us. Woman want to be fought for and to be shown that they are a high priority. I have been a situation like this… well, sans squinty eyes. I wanted the fight too. The dedication of being shown that the man you’re with believes that he’s good enough for you as well as you being the one for him. Men do not understand this. This amongst many (many) other things is where the twain divides on men and women’s thoughts.
I don’t see this as an underhanded and unreasonable parlay. Men expect a lot. Shaved legs. High heels. A hearty appetite and slender figures.
They want to be taken care of when they are sick, but not to reminded them that they are sick or what they’re doing will make them such. They seem to prefer the ease of air-headed compassion yet it needs to be paralleled with unheralded wit. They wouldn’t mind a damsel-in-distress and a virgin without a past, but yet express an interest in a headstrong, independent companion that definitely knows what she wants in bed.
And they say we’re a contradiction. I say explicitly – along with Grey’s Anatomy writers who say so in less concrete terms – fight for us.
Sing some karaoke for us. (I recommend the Everything Little Thing She Does Is Magic by The Police.) Bring us flowers. Start a fight with a guy who says that our haircut looks like a boy’s. Fix our car. Get us a ride in a horse driven carriage. Let us win at poker. Let us not win at poker. Dance with us. Drag us out on the damn dance floor.
Believe that you’re the best man we could ever meet, then tell us that you believe you’re better than any fool we could even meet. If you truly don’t believe it, move on. For the others, don’t give up.
Back to the slapping. Women should say this to the men in their lives in no uncertain terms, but we don’t. We want you to infer this. Do I think this is efficient? Hell no. Have I wanted the inferring to magically occur? Hell yes.