My boy friend gave me his fish to baby-sit and my mother relented after ten years of begging to say, “If you can keep It alive for three weeks, you can have a goldfish of your own.”
“I am on a reward system for a fucking fish? What am I? Eight?” I stamped my foot.
“Have you fed the other fish yet? Have you ever fed your dog? In fact, do you even eat breakfast yourself? No. Deal with it.”
She made a valid point.
I stormed to my bedroom and slammed my door while yelling, “Yeah, well, if I was allowed to drink scotch for breakfast you know I totally would!”
Archimedes somehow survived and I am now the proud mother to my first batch of adopted children, Maddox and Zahara. My bedroom is now the location of fun game called Who Will Die First?
Being a single-mother-of-twins means that I now must stay in, cook organic food, be caring and meditate or similar. I was doing just that by sitting on the couch next to the fish, eating organic cookie dough straight out of the packet and watching “Taken Out”, a new cable dating show. My fish were bonding in their near-by tank while I was in a trance at the level of stupidity being displayed by my peers on the small screen and immediately vowed to home school any children I put in a tank in the future.
One night, my friends and I were exhausted by the dramas of our own lives so we played The Game Of Life.
“The only way I want a kid-thing if I adopt a seventeen and a half year old, spend six months teaching It everything I know and then can take It out for a drink,” I declared as my little board game car quickly filled up with fictional children. I continuously landed on the most matrimonial of boxes and realized that while playing a game, my life doesn’t go in the direction I want it to.
It was an important lesson.
I would never go on a dating show because I don’t have boobs and therefore, via the evidence I have seen, I would loose. I don’t like loosing but I hate playing dating games even more. I can’t be bothered to do it when there isn’t a camera present, so I fail to see the attraction when one is.
Over the years, I have had countless realizations that I have been played for a fool. The moment I realize that We are not on the same page is the moment I declare, “I didn’t want you to be in that pile [read: mound] of people I have only had sex with. But, you know, welcome.”
Participating in game playing means you are allowing someone else to set the standards of how you want to be treated and what you deem to be appropriate behavior. I can’t be bothered to do that with any other people, so I fail to see the attraction of doing so after sex. No one is That pretty. I don’t like dating losers but I hate being a loser even more.
Games are only fun if both people know the rules. Otherwise someone is playing football and someone is ping pong and the only result will be an unnecessary kick to the balls. The childhood game of Cowboys And Indians is a perfect example of people only being villains by perception: everyone does something bad, but everyone also has a reason to. Understanding those reasons is the challenge of a relationship, not begging someone to like you. It is the only game that should ever be played.
The truth is that any relationship worth having is easy, at least to begin with. The hard work comes eventually and even when it does, it is real. The four relationships that I have found myself in started with an attraction and days later we were sharing the same toothbrush. You can never guess what the eventual outcome will be, but those first few days are fun and only successful in the absence of a game.
Spending an evening alone is rewarding when you have to look after something other than yourself. I poured myself a scotch for dinner, started to teach Maddox and Zahara everything I know and then realized that over the years of dating, I still know very little.
“Yeah, well, if I was allowed to just play the game my way I totally would,” I enlightened.
I fed them and fell asleep satisfied that I have at least learnt something.
