Journalism / SEX and the SUBURBS

SEX and
the SUBURBS
by Courtney Oates

A conversation I had the other night left me thinking.  We were discussing my single girl status and trying to make sense of my recent dating misconception when a friend of mine, an ex actually, tried to pin me as being a romance junkie.  At first I was slightly insulted, searching my sarcasm for a witty comeback.  How dare he accuse me of being “one of those.”  One of those mushy, gushy types; those honey, baby, sugar types; those sweep me off my feet types.  I am a cool chick; a let’s get together for a beer kind of broad; a dart throwing, horror flick watching, down to earth gal.  I know that candles need not accompany my dinner and movie theaters are for watching and not necking. I’ll watch The Notebook alone, unless he wants to watch it, which is cool but totally not necessary.  I’m not one of those public affection advocates; “hold my hand, suck my face, let me sit on your lap” kind of ladies. In fact, I am quite the opposite.

So I stopped and thought about it for a second.  What would my comeback be?  How could I put his ass in its place for making such an accusation?  But as I formulated my response I began to realize that he was right.  I am looking for romance, but by my own definition, and I think I damn well deserve to get it.  But aren’t we all, at least subconsciously, looking for a relationship with a little romance in it?  Here’s the thing; we have all been saturated by the stereotypical “one of those” romantic gestures which hence define a relationship as being romantic.  So no, if by that definition, I am romance drug free.

I am however addicted to sweet simplicity.  Just call me a lazy junkie, I guess.  You see my single suburbanites, I think romance is far too over done and effortless gestures are far too underrated.  Wouldn’t you rather you’re counterpart spontaneously reach across your pool table and kiss your forehead without the worry that his fancy dinner tie catch fire from the fancy dinner candle?  Call me crazy, I’m sure not for the first time, but I am more touched by a smile than a serenade.  Although a man that suddenly sings to you is sweet and simple, as long as your name doesn’t repeat in the chorus.

Here’s the deal ladies and gents: this romance drug is used most amongst the single population.  See, the married folk use it recreationally which is cool but now, I tend to lay off it.  They play Kenny G. and eat at opposite ends of the dining room table.  It’s not really my thing.  I’d much rather roll up on the beach and play some Jack Johnson.

You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.