BAD THOUGHT
If you don’t get a job, Evie, it’s because you’re a screwed-up nut job who can’t leave the house. It will be nothing to do with benevolent sexism.
“I think I get it,” I said, mulling it over. Envious – once more – of Lottie’s superior brainpower.
“I do too,” said Amber. “But I don’t see what it’s got to do with boyfriends or dating.”
“Well this is what I’ve been thinking about. What if we’re all actually benevolent sexists? Without realizing it?” Lottie said. “You know how much I fancied Tim? Well, that’s because he was all manly and loaded and I felt protected. I felt men should be that way. It was sexy. So reading this thing, I thought, ‘Oh God, I’m a benevolent sexist!’ Well, my sex drive is anyway. And it got me to thinking, ‘How can you be a feminist if you’re going out with someone? Is it possible?’ Because we all have screwed-up ideas of how boys and girls are ‘supposed’ to be and it affects who we fancy and how we behave in relationships.”
Amber crossed her arms. “It’s definitely possible. I would never let myself fall for an alpha dickhead. Not after I got stood up by that football idiot.”
I tilted my head. “Yes, Amber, you say that. But, no offence, have you ever been in love?”
Amber’s mouth dropped open. “What’s that got to do with anything?” she snapped.
“I’m not saying that to be mean,” I backtracked. “But, like, it’s easy to have morals before you’ve got a boy you really fancy making you compromise them without you even realizing.”
Lottie nodded excitedly. “Exactly, this is what I mean. Our need to be loved, fanciable, desirable – whatever. It messes up our judgement. Take Evelyn for example…”
“I’m not sure I want to be an example.”
“Well, I’m using you as one. Look at her – she’s helped us form this club. You’re a feminist, right?”
It was my turn to nod. “Of course. A feminist and a fellow spinster.” I gave Amber a little grin, nervous I’d upset her again with my comment.
Lottie continued. “But then look how you behave around Guy…”
“Huh?” I said, suddenly flustered. “What do you mean ‘how I behave’?”
“No offence, Eves, and I’ve not heard yet what happened last night but I can probably guess. He treats you like crap. He’s controlling and all alpha…and you can’t help but fancy him more because of it. Because you’re a benevolent sexist too. You find his arrogance and his alphaness sexy – because you’ve been conditioned into thinking that’s how boys should be. If he started crying and getting all soppy and feminine over you – like that Oli bloke – you’d go off him.”
If Guy’s lack-of-message was a scratch in my already-dented sense of self, hearing that was like a stab wound. And any reminder of Oli hurt too much right now. He’d still not come back to college.
“Hey!” I wailed. “That’s so unfair.”
Lottie shrugged. “Look, I’m the same! I’m just as broken. This is what I wanted us to talk about today. How can we fix it? How can we keep Amber’s determination to be true to ourselves, when being distracted by sexy boys with bad values who, despite ourselves, we really really fancy?”
“I know how,” Amber said. “Grow to be five foot eleven and die your hair ginger. Then none of those sexy boys try to distract you.”
“Ahh,” I said, laughing, though her pain was quite sad. “So you’re just a perfect feminist by default?”
She looked miserable. “Probably.”
Lottie’s eyes were shining, her smile massive. “This is great guys, great!”
“I don’t feel very great right now,” I said.
“Me neither,” said Amber.
“But that’s the point. It’s hard to realize unpleasant truths about ourselves. But it’s the first step towards making things better.”
“So, what do we do?” I asked.
“First things first, we eat the biscuits I’ve got in the kitchen downstairs. Second, we all come up with a rule we think we can incorporate into the way we date. Then we put it all together into a manifesto. Then we try our best to follow it…even when the guy has floppy hair and sexy eyes and does that cupping-your-face-in-his-manly-hands thing.”
“That was what Guy did to me last night,” I admitted.
“See!” Lottie looked so proud of herself I almost wanted to kick her. “I promise you, Evie, by the end of this meeting, you’ll never want to see Guy ever again.”
But that’s not what I want, I thought.
Amber and I walked a bit of the way home together. I dawdled, not wanting to face my parents. I’d also have to redo the whole route later when Amber left – but this time touching each lamp post six times.
“So,” Amber said, pulling her beret further down to keep out the harsh cold air. “What did happen with you and Guy last night?”
My cracked phone still lay dormant in my coat pocket. “I told you guys already.”
“You told us you kissed. But you kept adding aggressive rules to our dating manifesto.”
I pulled our makeshift rules out of my pocket.
The Spinster Club rules of feminist dating
1) If we expect all men to have six-packs and biceps, we can’t get mad when they expect us to be stick-figures with DD boobs. Try and fancy decent men with decent HEARTS, rather than pricks with abs.
2) Do not be afraid of being any of the following in a relationship because you want boys to like you: bolshy, naggy, opinionated, ambitious, intolerant and independent. Don’t be a bitch, but don’t pretend to be a passive cupcake-baking robot either.
3) Do NOT drop your friends/life once you’re loved-up.
4) Do not pretend to like the following because you think you should: football, rugby, action films, anal sex (Lottie added that one), metal music… Like what you like.
5) If a boy kisses you then doesn’t message, you’re allowed to puncture his face with a compass. (Amber and Lottie wouldn’t let that one of mine in.)
“I still stand by that last one,” I said, stubbornly.
“So, what? You kissed and now he’s ignoring you?”
My eyes welled up, with the frustration, as well as confusion and hurt. “Yes. I’m such an idiot. You’re allowed to tell me I’m an idiot. I know you’ve been dying to.”
Amber took my hand – which would’ve been nice but I knew she didn’t wash her hands with soap. I’d have to scrub mine when I got home. I didn’t know what to do first – the lamp posts or the washing. The lamp posts, I guessed. My parents wouldn’t let me out after the Big Talking To I’d no doubt be getting. My phone had been going off all through the meeting and I’d ignored it.
“You’re not an idiot,” Amber reassured. “And, anyway, remember the bit of the manifesto we let through… Girls must try not to let blokes pee all over their hearts – but matters of the heart are complicated, so you should always be there for each other.”
I gave her a sad smile. “That won’t fit on a bumper sticker.”
“Good. I hate bumper stickers. They’re always so bloody patronizing.”
I squeezed her hand and let go promptly. “You’re right. We kissed, I thought it was wonderful. Now he’s not messaged. I really am an idiot.” The rejection stung so much and it didn’t make any sense. I’d been so normal around him – apart from that blip at the party I’d been utterly usual. Was me freaking out at the party enough to put him off? And, if so, why did he kiss me?
“Oh, Evie.” She put her arm around me and I let her because our coats were thick and therefore no skin was touching. “He’s the idiot, not you. I wish you could see that.”