For those of you that don’t know, I harbor a massive girl crush on Jennifer Aniston. I’ve been a giant Friends fan for literally over half of my life. I fall asleep every night watching it. It’s a problem. My close friends and family think I need help. I literally cried when I got a “You’re My Lobster” sweatshirt from Stephen this year for Christmas. I digress. I love her. I have this life goal to own every movie she’s ever been in (even the bad ones). I still haven’t seen Mr. and Mrs. Smith. I refuse to. And, actually, I haven’t seen an Angelina Jolie movie since Mr. and Mrs. Smith. I know I have a problem. That being said, I probably watch He’s Just Not That Into You a few times a year. It’s a personal favorite. And although I’ve had some beef with that movie before, damn, it’s usually right.
Let’s go back in time to the beginning of May 2013. I thought this boy was cute. He was a friend of my roommate’s friend. He was my other friend’s boyfriend’s brother. OMG IT WAS FATE. Kind of. We had officially met a few months prior at the bar, but we didn’t really have a chance to have an actual conversation until graduation day in May. We spent the night talking and dancing and he asked me for my phone number. Little did he know that I had already asked his brother for his phone number a few weeks before. I’d been eyeing this boy for a while. He was just so cute.
But I never called or sent him a text. I don’t really know why. I think part of me really wanted him to ask, because, well, if he asked it meant he must like me. And he did. And he sent me a text making sure I got home okay that night. Then, the next day, he asked me out on a date for later in the week. I said yes. He talked to me the perfect amount. It wasn’t too obsessive or clingy, it was just a normal conversation between to adults that enjoyed one another. This went on until our first date, we went bowling and to a local show. It was chill and fun. And he got major props for making a good impression on my friends. It went extremely well. He asked me out again, for the very next day. Then we hung out the day after that, and the day after that, and then it was Saturday night and he was asking if I wanted to be exclusive. I did. We were. It’s been a year. If you hadn’t figured it out, I’m talking about Stephen (shut up, I know, I talk about him a lot but we’re dating and this is a relationship column so get over it).
Now let’s talk about Joe. Joe is not a real name, or a specific person. He’s kind of a mix of any previous whatever-they-weres. Joe would text sometimes. We never went out on real dates. We always met up at a bar or something that was 100 percent not a date. Joe wouldn’t ask if I made it home okay. Joe was wishy-washy about future plans. “Joe, do you want to go to a wedding with me?” No, Joe didn’t know what he was doing in two weeks. It might be awkward. Joe sucks. And although I had watched that movie 1,000 times and read the book 1,000 more times it was a really hard pill to swallow that Joe really didn’t care about me very much.
We all make excuses, and I know I’ve mentioned that before, but it’s so obvious when you compare the two situations right next to one another. Since the first real conversation I had with Stephen there was no doubt in my mind that he enjoyed spending time with me. No drama. No slow fade. Nothing that made me want to pull my hair out or throw up. It was easy. Relationships take work, sure. I know I’m pretty high maintenance. But for the most part, it’s easy. It just fits. There’s no “omg I haven’t heard from him in two weeks and I’m not sure what’s going on.” Because, honestly, I’m 23 years old. Ain’t nobody got time for a boy who’s “afraid of commitment” or whatever.
And to be honest, “afraid of commitment” doesn’t mean afraid of commitment. It means, “I don’t like you very much.”
Molly is a senior journalism/English major at a school you haven’t heard of in a state you haven’t heard of. She’s obsessed with Chandler Bing, English bulldogs, and cheese. Follow her on twitter @mollymahannah, or check out her website accordingtomolly.com.