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© St. Petersburg Times, published February 14, 2002
I have a crush.
Not a 5 mph speed bump crush. It's more of the Mount Kilimanjaro variety. The kind of thing that rocks my world, making me actually care about my hair.
And it's perfectly clear that this guy's going to call any day -- no, any hour now. He really is. Really.
Trust me, he's interested. After 2-million years of evolution, women can discern a predatory glance, no matter how subtle.
Except it's been three months since I met him, and he's not calling. Four times we've bumped into each other, and still he's not calling.
This much I know: I refuse to make the first move.
This much I don't know: Whether I'm right.
To call or not to call? Shakespearean it ain't. But ultimately, the quandary underscores the complicated and changing ways the sexes relate, connect and, yes, fail.
What's at stake in a phone call? Only, possibly, undying happiness. If we singles can figure this one out, great things await us. Think Valentine's Day 2003 through, say, Valentine's Day 2033.
The thing is, I am convinced that our postmodern ethos is constantly at odds with our primordial instincts. What it all boils down to is that a man is hard-wired to chase.
Even if that chase is something as dumb as being forced to admit his romantic interest in a woman, worry about calling her, worry more about not calling, shuffle to the phone, sweat mildly as he dials, swallow hard on the second ring and, with the subconscious image of spearing a wild boar in his small head, muster the courage to ask, "Will you have dinner with me?"
My theory is, if a woman makes the first overture and hoists a guy over that initial threshold, he won't think of a date as a real date. It becomes an arrangement. And arrangements are great -- if you're asking your neighbor to get the mail while you're gone.
So I'm doing us both a favor by refusing to do anything more than turn up the ringer volume on my cell phone.
Still no call. Is my cell battery dead? Or could I possibly be wrong? I consult the experts.
The Rev. Ed Lamp, St. Peter Claver Catholic Church in Tampa: "Go for it, honey, go for it!"
Rabbi Joel Wasser, Congregation Kol Ami: "I wouldn't lose sight of the fact that God only helps those who help themselves."
Dr. Michael Johnson, associate professor of psychiatry at the University of Florida: "There's no right answer."
Jennifer Hackshaw, general curator for the Lowry Park Zoo: "Female chimps go into estrus, similar to what human females do. They have periods of when they're receptive to mating. It's evident by a swelling of a pad on their backside, and when that is at its peak, that's a signal to the male the female is receptive."
So the female gives the come-hither signal, and the male makes the moves. That sounds like a wash.
"No flowers are presented," Hackshaw reminded. "No Valentine's cards."
Sheesh. Glad I'm not an ape.
"You are an ape, dear."
Mindy Murphy, president of the Junior League of Tampa: "In theory, in our liberated society, I don't see why the woman couldn't be the first one to call."
Psychic Visions by Rachael, in Tampa: "I feel that (the guy) is hurt. For some reason, the spirits are showing me you have to call him."
How could so many smart people know so little about the dynamics of human mating rituals?
Fifty years ago, you wouldn't be reading this article because there would be no dilemma. Women were called ladies (dreadful). And ladies didn't call, period. Thirty years ago, you wouldn't be reading this because there would still be no dilemma. Women, defiantly renamed womyn, felt that being aggressive was a necessary strike against the patriarchy.
Today, feminism has come of age, blessing my generation with a certain behavioral freedom. With little left to prove, we are individuals, not women stuck in some submissive mold, nor pawns in some collective grrrl power.
Refusing to call this guy is no throwback to tradition. It's not a chapter from that disastrous book The Rules. It's an expression of my feminist bent. I get to play the game and write my own rules. Call it The Roles.
Now, he just needs to play his role.
After all, gender chaos I'm just not game for. Say I dial his number. Say he agrees to dinner. Should I drive over and pick him up? Insist he order first? Walk him to his door afterward?!
Forget sotto voce seduction. I'd need to practice my baritone.
So what if I'm stubborn? My phone will be ringing any minute now.
Right, Mom?
"All the speculation in the world isn't going to make a difference . . . if you never talk to him," says my mother, an old-school feminist warrior. "And if you call and it doesn't work, who wants to be with someone who is scared away by who you are and your forthrightness?
"I think that you should call."
I never called.
But he did.
A few days ago, we sat across from each other over a downtown lunch, not our first.
What if I'd been the one to call?
"I don't know how it would have turned out," he said. "My interest was unresolved for me until I decided to call you. So I may have taken the relationship less seriously if I didn't have to commit my thought process to it."
So my theory stands, eh?
Well, no, he says.
"I had to make sure other things were shut down first," he says mysteriously. "I just wanted to give you my full attention."
Hmmm. I'll call him tonight for more details.