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THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MEN AND WOMEN
A guy named Roger is attracted to a woman
named Elaine. He asks her out to a movie; she
accepts; they have a pretty good time. A few nights
later he asks her out to dinner, and again they
enjoy themselves. They continue to see each other
regularly, and after a while neither one of them is
seeing anybody else.
And then, one evening when they're driving home,
a thought occurs to Elaine, and, without
really thinking, she says it aloud: "Do you realize
that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for
exactly six months?"
And then there is silence in the car. To Elaine, it
seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to
herself: Geez, I wonder if it bothers him that I said
that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by our
relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him
into some kind of obligation that he doesn't want, or
isn't sure of.
And Roger is thinking: Gosh. Six months.
And Elaine is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so
sure I want this kind of relationship, either.
Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I'd
have time to think about whether I really want us to
keep going the way we are, moving steadily
toward... I mean, where are we going? Are we just
going to keep seeing each other at this level of
intimacy? Are we heading toward marriage? Toward
children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for
that level of commitment? Do I really even know this person?
And Roger is thinking: ...so that means it was...
let's See... February when we started going out,
which was right after I had the car at the dealer's,
which means... lemme check the odometer...Whoa!
I am way overdue for an oil change here.
And Elaine is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on
his face. Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong.
Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more
intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed - even
before I sensed it - that I was feeling some
reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's why he's
so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings.
He's afraid of being rejected.
And Roger is thinking: And I'm gonna have them
look at the transmission again. I don't care what
those morons say, it's still not shifting right. And
they better not try to blame it on the cold weather
this time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees
out, and this thing is shifting like a garbage truck,
and I paid those incompetent thieves $600.
And Elaine is thinking: He's angry. And I don't
blame him. I'd be angry too. I feel so guilty,
putting him through this, but I can't help the way
feel. I'm just not sure.
And Roger is thinking: They'll probably say
it's only a 90-day warranty...scumbags.
And Elaine is thinking: Maybe I'm just too idealistic,
waiting for a knight to come riding up on his
white horse, when I'm sitting right next to a
perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being
with, a person I truly do care about, a person who
seems to truly care about me. A person who is in pain
because of my self-centered, schoolgirl romantic fantasy.
And Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a
warranty? I'll give them a warranty. I'll take their
warranty and stick it right up their...
"Roger," Elaine says aloud.
"What?" says Roger, startled.
"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says,
her eyes beginning to brim with tears. "Maybe I
should never have... Oh God, I feel so..."
(She breaks down sobbing.)
"What?" says Roger.
"I'm such a fool," Elaine sobs. "I mean, I know
there's no knight. I really know that. It's silly.
There's no knight, and there's no horse."
"There's no horse?" says Roger.
"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Elaine says.
"No!" says Roger, glad to finally know a correct answer.
"It's just that... it's that I... I need some time,"
Elaine says.
(There is a 15-second pause while Roger, thinking as
fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response.)
Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work.
"Yes," he says.
(Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand.)
"Oh, Roger, do you really feel that way?" she says.
"What way?" says Roger.
"That way about time," says Elaine.
"Oh," says Roger. "Sure."
(Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes,
causing him to become very nervous about what she might say
next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)
"Thank you, Roger," she says.
"Thank YOU," says Roger.
Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a
conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn,
whereas when Roger gets back to his place, he opens a
bag of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately
becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match
between two Czechoslovakians he never heard of. A
tiny voice in the recesses of his mind tells him
that something major was going on back there in the
car, but he is pretty sure there is no way he would
ever understand what, and so he figures it's better
if he just doesn't think about it.
The next day Elaine will call her closest friend, or
perhaps two of them, and they will talk about
this situation for six straight hours. In
painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she
said and everything he said, going over it time and
time again, exploring every word, expression, and
gesture for nuances of meaning, considering
every possible ramification. They will continue to
discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe
months, never reaching any definite conclusions, but
never getting bored with it either.
Meanwhile, Roger, playing racquetball one day with a
mutual friend of his and Elaine's, will pause just
before serving, frown, and say:
"Hey, Norm. Did Elaine ever own a horse??
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