Eve and Bob: “What Happened Next” or, Text Messages Are the New Post-It”
By Eve Sturges
I would like to begin this post by apologizing to my readers. I have been on a hiatus of grand proportions, the likes of which never before seen, and excuses for which are completely and utterly UNforgivable. Sorrrrrry.
So, let’s get to it, shall we?
No, WAIT: Thank you to all who sent me encouragement and suggestions. Mostly, you all wanted me to send the email, throwing caution to the wind!
What really happened: I did not send the email (See Date #0). Instead, very uninteresting, albeit more technologically advanced, exchanges were had via “instant messenger.” I said I wanted to see him. “I would like to see you again.” He responded, seconds later. “Me too.” And so on, and so forth. Four weeks passed before a face to face meeting actually occurred. We had a very nice time, I did indeed reveal minor vulnerabilities, and I was feeling optimistic.
24 hours later I received this text message: “Eve, for reasons I will not explain, I can no longer continue seeing you.”
So. That. Was. That.
When “Eve and Bob” was created, I imagined that it would be the UN-Sex-And-The-City version of…Sex And The City. I am nothing like the women of Manhattan! I have a child, I do not have much money, I walk silly in high heels. Also, I do not have a cute perky voice. More importantly, I did not want to try and analyze, philosophize, or otherwise examine how dating is a microcosm of Women, or Society, or Whatever. I am not Carrie Bradshaw, nor am I attempting to be. I never would have left Aiden.
The Point is this: That which shall from henceforth be known as “The Text Message Incident” changed everything. (Okay, “everything” is a bit dramatic, but bear with me.) I am still no Carrie or Candace, and—who am I kidding?—my stuff will never become a printed column, then a book, then an HBO show that blows open our nations understanding of sex and dating, and then years later a horrible movie. BUT. The TMI isn’t a good story by events alone; it is a good story because of what happened next. Which was, in short, my feelings.
Man oh MAN. I was so shocked. And angry. And hurt. And offended. And sad. And, like, so pissed. I mean, A TEXT MESSAGE?! And dumping me?! ME?! Really? REALLY?! Sitting in my car, I cried a little, and when that felt okay, I cried a whole lot, which felt even better. When I could catch my breath, and look around, I called a good friend, who is really more of a mentor.
“What you need is the matinee cure.”
In between sniffles and gulps, I whimpered, “The matinee cure?”
“Oh, honey. Every girl needs to know the Matinee Cure.”
The Matinee Cure: A Sure-Fire Treatment for Dealing with Tragedy*
1. Choose an early showing of a movie that demands your attention. Foreign films with subtitles are best, Wes Anderson coming in at a close second. Stay away from brainless blockbusters, ie: “HouseBunny”
2. To stash in purse: Non-Junk Food; protein and starch, for energy and dopamine. Water for hydration.
3. Call 5 good friends, and leave the following message: “I can’t talk right now, but I need some love later.” (If they answer, make it quick; avoid details.)
4. Turn your phone OFF and leave it in your car.
5. Park at least 5 blocks away. The walk will do you some good before having to face the box office.
Goddamit if she wasn’t right. Driving home, I could see my feelings for what they were, and see the TMI for what it was. There is no excuse for his method—I mean, really, WHO does that?—but it sure did answer questions about the unknown, and it was mostly painless. He does not even know that my favorite color is orange, that I loathe feeling cold in grocery stores, or even that I love liverwurst!* We had only reconnected for 24 hours, so I have very little over which to reminisce; my ego was bruised, but my heart wasn’t broken. I have a box of secrets, in which one will find that I am afraid of growing old alone, and I would love for someone to come take care of me. The TMI was a one-two punch. The wind was knocked out of me, but I was alive and could fully stand up again. And I had—count them—five voicemails reminding me of how loved, and how NOT alone, I truly am. Let’s be honest, before the Matinee Cure came into my life, this would have taken me days to realize. Weeks even.
(How exactly would Carrie wrap this all up?!?)
Especially considering the state of our nation, I wish there was a matinee cure for everything, and I wish crises only happened during Oscar season. The movie helped me escape my Dark Dwellng Place for just long enough to remember what is important, and who I really am, instead of just how I feel. We can’t escape from the world most of the time, but it is important to step back and take the time it takes to remember the broader truths of our reality. I was really dumped with a text message, but I am really better off without him, I am really loved, I really have a wonderful life. I think what I want to say is that I am still standing. It was not the end of the world, and more often than not, it is not as bad as it seems. Even without movies, during any crisis, I am loved by amazing friends, and I can always find food, and I can always park my car 5 blocks away to help me breathe before facing the box office.
*Tragedy as defined by job-loss, home eviction, or the end of a relationship via text message, smoke signals, or other forms of immature communication.
**Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, my friends.