Ever since I was 17 or 18 years old, I’ve been the “go to” girl for many of my guy friends when it comes to shopping (suits, especially), relationship advice (how to get one, what to do when you’ve got one, how to get out of one without being an absolute idiot), gift buying (really? she wanted UFC DVDs?), or navigating the standard paths of romance (flower buying, choosing restaurants, not buying stuffed animals for grown women, etc.)
I’m not sure how I ended up with this responsibility, but I do enjoy it. I guess in a lot of ways I sought it out, because it made me feel valuable.
Mostly.
I blame my parents for the “skill set.”
Both of them are smart about romance, good with affirmation, and firm about handling their own foibles (and one another’s) with a sense of humour. They get the importance of love and respect in relationships. They also have style and taste, some of which they’ve passed on to me.
(Though only so much can be said for a girl currently wearing chocolate brown flip flops, a sparkly bracelet, and a $7 floaty shirt she got at Old Navy.)
I can’t blame them, however, for the odd little dents that “services rendered” have left in my confidence.
After all, I’m pushing men to work out their issues with other women.
I’m helping them charm someone else.
I’m pointing out the perfect engagement ring for a finger sized nothing like my own (5 1/2, if you’re wondering.)
People tell me I should do it as a business… like a (yikes!) consultant. A “mansultant”, if you will.
But I won’t.
I want my guy friends to be happy and confident. And I want the same for the women in their lives.
But I’ve spent hours more than once guiding someone I had a rather serious interest in through the process of capturing another’s attention. I’ve listened to enough random excuses and whiny remarks from the opposite sex in the midst of walking them through love minefields that I wanted to throw myself in the path of a stray bomb. I’ve watched men put up with horrible things and women put up with horrible things until I considered becoming a nun. And I’ve seen far too many pairs of white socks.
Did I do it to feel needed? Yeah.
Did I do it to experience some sort of relationship proxy? Probably.
Did I do it because I was being a friend? Mostly.
Did I do it because it was really necessary? I don’t think so.
Would the world actually end if a girl got a teddy bear instead of the pashmina she really wanted?
Nope.
The planet would keep on turning, people would keep on working out their issues, and I’d still go home to dinner for one and What Not to Wear.
Did it hurt like hell sometimes to urge effort, rather than receive it? Of course it did.
But I asked for it, like I do with most of the trouble in my life. I run headlong into situations most people wouldn’t poke at with a ten foot pole.
So I’m putting away my shingle on this one.
I’m setting aside my shopping-fu.
I’m going to stop thinking I know how to fix everything or what the best course of action might be when everything goes awry.
You’ve heard the old adage, “Those who can’t do, teach.”
Eeek.
The boys will figure it out. The girls will speak for themselves. And someday, maybe, if I stop trying so hard to feel necessary, I’ll figure out that I always was… and not just because I advised against carnations.
Because I’m a girl worth charming.
I’m a girl worth the time.
I’m a girl who would happily take the ring from the Cracker Jack box if it was given in love.
And the only person I should ever work on improving is me.
I mean… did I mention the $7 shirt?
