The Rules

I should preface this by saying, I've never read The Rules, only deconstructions of the book. Maybe it is a perfectly nice book that just got bad press. But I doubt it.

Steven is teaching me his rules. I was late on Sunday for a date, and I was running 2 blocks from the bus stop to the restaurant. (I'd already called him to tell him I'd be a bit late.) And he said later: "Listen to me: If you are late, I don't want you running. I can wait." Twice he has dropped me off at home, and both times, he has gone several blocks out of his way so I wouldn't have to cross the street. Then he puts his blinkers on, gets out of the car and opens the door for me. Oh, and I'm not to reach across the car to open the door for him--he doesnt want me to strain myself. And it is charming. All of it.

He is SO sweet. And he adores me. I've never had any man treat me the way he does. he cares more for me than I do for him. It isn't a question of us not being on the same path--he's just a couple of miles ahead of me and I need to catch up. But all the little things he does for me are indicative of how much he adores me. (And other things too--we've had a couple of long conversations where he has made that abundantly clear.)

It got me thinking about The Rules, and all the games gals play--it seems like they are just a way to try and force a man to behave as if he adores you. I can see in moderation, not seeming like you are insane is a good thing. And if you don't have a life, there's no reason to be too obvious with that. But most of the rest--it seems predicated on the notion that actions bring emotions, rather than vice-versa. It is true, I've tried like hell to not seem insane by whispering "I love you" to someone I hardly know. And I've attempted to fake not being clingy. But the rest just seems bizarre--almost like "well, if I wear hoopskirts, then men will behave the way they do in 19th century romance novels!"

The flip-side, however, is that the more protected I feel in a situation like this, the softer I get. And the softer I get, the more he wants to take care of me. I had an ugly incident with a crazy, probably homeless, man, who came up and shoved me and started yelling at me after I stepped on his imaginary dog or something, and the fact that the men on the street didn't even stop what they were doing to keep an eye on it, it really surprised me. I'm just as capable of taking care of myself as I was 5 years ago, but it draws on a part of me I rarely call on anymore and it took me an hour, at least, before I felt less jumpy. I wouldn't trade my softness, but it is a trade-off.