Monday, July 13, 2009
Desperate, but not serious...
I have been fascinated lately by the idea of a desperate woman. I am not referring to the Wisteria Lane variety either. I mean real women. The kind of woman that is so completely driven out of her mind by love or lust, that she does things she never imagined she was capable of doing. By all accounts, a woman who brushes her teeth and commutes to work like most of us, but inside she is simmering, about to boil over. You can’t see it usually, but this woman is barely functioning and only steps away from that slippery slope that will plunge her into “Crazy Psycho Bitchdom”. It is usually the land of no return. Dates are going to be pretty hard to come by once the story of her break down hits the news wire.
You don’t have to be Jerry Springer-worthy to be a desperate woman. Although that breed is certainly highly entertaining, there are many intelligent, well-placed women who have blown it all by acting on that fleeting, desperate impulse that seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Love and lust do not discriminate with regard to I.Q. or economic status. They will sucker punch you whether your home is in a trailer park or a gated community.
I am reminded of the female astronaut caught in a love triangle with her NASA co-workers. Complete desperation put this married mother of three behind the wheel of her car, driving across the country in a diaper with ill intent towards her romantic rival. She swore that she only wanted to “talk” to her. I have often wondered if she would have had the guts to go through with whatever dastardly plan she had concocted for the “other woman”. My money is on the Crazy Psycho Bitch. I think she had committed and was willing to do whatever it was going to take to win back the love she so desperately desired. What she failed to take into account is that most men frown on murder when it comes to choosing a life partner.
Sometimes that desperate woman loves you to death – literally. It‘s the old “If I can’t have you then no one can have you” logic. (If you can call that logic…) If you are a millionaire athlete with a wife and a bevy of girlfriends, take heed not to make too many promises. Emotions run high and can reach dangerous levels at certain times of the month. You take a young woman who is secretly teetering on the verge of CPB (Crazy Psycho Bitchdom) and add to that skyrocketing hormone levels and a cheating man. Well, let’s just say you better hide the weapons people, because that’s a memorial service in the making right there.
I will admit to my own excursion into CPB. I was a senior in high school. I had been dating the “love of my life” for two years. He was a sophomore at Clemson, and I was sure he was the ONE. He, on the other hand, decided that college girls were exponentially more fun than high school girls and dumped me. I knew that he was just confused and maybe seeing me and talking it out would fix this mess. So I awoke on a school day, dressed, left a note for my mom, and took her car keys. I hit the road for Clemson. I was headed out on a Road Trip for Love. It didn’t work though. No big surprise there. Todd didn’t want me back. It was a hard pill to swallow, and I felt like such a fool. My mom didn’t even punish me because I’m sure she could see the shame I was feeling. The things we do for love.
I think most regular folks are willing to simply live a life of quiet desperation. Life isn’t fair, and you don’t always get what you want. That “want” could be the cute guy in the next cubicle or the mansion on the hill. It doesn’t matter. That embarrassing act of desperation isn’t going to make Mr. Right love you. That’s not how this game works.
I’m glad that there are women out there who are willing to throw caution to the wind and give up their dignity to fight for that man of their dreams. (It really doesn’t matter that he doesn’t have all his teeth and hasn’t been gainfully employed for eighteen months. She loves him.) It sure does make for interesting TV, and keeps Maury Povich and Jerry Springer out of the unemployment line.