dr. who, economics., Heathen, Love, Pagan, Power, promise, relationships
I never quite know how I get myself into these conversations, but I do. While I was at work today me and three female coworkers started talking about dating and what was and was not appropriate on a date. Well, more what was and was not appropriate for a date, I should say. It started because one of them mentioned a guy who wanted to date them who kept offering to take them to a place which was considered “cheap”* and was summarily dismissed by all three ladies as “unworthy.”
This, of course, prompted the question of why by yours truly. Given my rather zen nature** I was a bit confused. Was it not the enjoyment of the food rather than its price which was important? Even more so, was it not better to enjoy the company of the one you were with rather than for the man to prove the vastness of his…pocketbook. As the Beetles song goes, “can’t buy me love.”
As it turns out, each girl is a princess, trained by her daddy’s treatment to think she is the, well, the shit.*** Any man who cannot treat her as her daddy did is not a man worth her time. This means fancy restaurants and such related things. My response/question about simply accepting the other person for who they really were was met with sum incredulity. Dressing up and going to fancy places weren’t illusions, even though in reality that’s exactly what they are. Judging someone simply for who they were as a person even if they took you to a “cheap” place was…a foreign idea. “I am my daddy’s princess.”
This left me in a state of some despondency. One of the many things I have faced since the ending of my somewhat five year long relationship and the reasons behind it…I have begun to wonder. What is love, what is the measure of love. Is it based solely on ones position in the food chains of life at that given moment with no thought to deeds done in the past or what kind of person you truly are. Power, economics, was the sole deciding factor in a appropriate first date. Power, was the sole contributor in who it was that was worthy of love, power of that moment, battered and bruise and broken, unworthy despite all past mighty deeds.
Maybe I am spoiled. Maybe I am an idealist. Little known fact about me is I used to write romance stories. Pretty good ones too, if I have to say so, at least they got a lot of likes on the website they were posted to. One isn’t even finished, just a couple chapters, and over ten years after becoming basically a dead fic it still gets faves, and requests to be continued. And I always wondered what it was about what I wrote that seemed so different from life and why it touched so many people
Well, I think part of me understands it. Having watched the recent season final of Dr. Who, it came to me what I really thought of Love, and what love was and what it should be.
Love is not an emotion. Love is a Promise.
Love is the promise to care for someone, to have their back, to spend your mightiest deeds for them. To fight men, gods, universes even, because they are the most important thing to you in the universe. It is a promise to accept them, for all their failings and flaws, because they are worthy of it not because of who they are, or how much they make, or even what they do. It is a promise to care for them in the deepest parts of your heart for one simple reason.
So my disposition grew depressed upon hearing their words. For they were from all parts of society and cultures, yet they all believed it was only in their royal treatment that their suitors could be deemed worthy. Love was not a promise, it was a competition, a challenge, and they held themselves up as the ultimate prize ever to be striven for. Oh sure, one did say that there was still hope if one did not have wealth to obtain love through creativity, but that spoke to me still of a sense of dishonesty. If you are not wealthy, then you should distract me from your lack of wealth with your cunning.
Odin, I think said it best. “Our words are fairest when our thoughts are falsest.”
End, Part 1
*As to what can be considered cheap these days is of course always a matter of perspective and economics. For example, to someone who lives of the dollar menu of various fast food chains, going to a place like Olive Garden is considered wondrous dining with astronomical prices. For one used to viewing Olive Garden as trash, such food on the other hand is considered almost an insult.
**Indeed it is said that the Svartwulf has reached such a state of zen that one sip of root beer will grant unto him more pleasure than a three hour massage by hot naked Asian women will to most men. Few dared to speculate how much pleasure the Son of Hel might gain from the aforementioned massage.
***The good kind, I was sure to make sure.
****This is perhaps why those we end up loving the most are those we consider our enemies. By their simple existence we resolve ourselves to them, and we weep when our most worthy enemies die by our hands, for they we truly knew like no other, just as they knew us better than even our supposed nearest and dearest.
Silver Wolf said:
Ugh, these are the type of women I can’t stand.
One of the best relationships I’ve ever had, our first date was to Steak n’ Shake. I don’t know, maybe I’m from a different world. I don’t give a shit about the place we go (as long as there is at least something I want to eat there but I’m not picky so that’s not hard)it’s all about the company. For me, it isn’t how much the guy spends on me. Can he make me laugh? Can we have an actual intellectual and/or deep conversation? Does he listen to what I actually say? Does he show that he cares? Do we have common interests? Can we spend time together in silence without being awkward? Is he comfortable enough with me to open up and let me listen? These are the important things. Fuck money. As long as I won’t have to take care of him (because he certainly won’t have to take care of me) I really don’t care how much he makes.
Warning: I’m about to turn this into a feminist thing.
This is what helps for women to be treated as objects. Telling a guy that he has to spend a certain amount of money to get to be with you turns you into an object. Something he BUYS. These are women that continue the objectification of women. You make yourself into something he has to EARN like a new car, instead of a person that they would need to show interest in and treat as a person by listening and actually caring. These are the women that will whine and complain that men only want sex. Again, that is because you are turning yourself into an object. Objects get used.
Just, ugh, aggravating.