marjam of the woods

Feminism Schmeminism

I met a young woman — let’s call her Jessica — out one night at a bar. It was a pretty standard pickup scenario, except for one thing: the roles were reversed. I'm the kind of guy who considers himself a feminist; I hate glass ceilings, and I would have voted for Hillary. But, if you’re a guy trying to date, feminism schmeminism — most women want you to come up to them, ask them out, hold the door, and pay on the first date.

But that night it went the other way. She bumped into me, perhaps on purpose, started a conversation, and then after about twenty minutes, said she had to get back to her friend but asked me for my phone number and said we should get dinner. She was gorgeous and seemed intoxicatingly confident. Of course I said yes.

Three days later, we were at dinner, and it became apparent that her desire to break gender stereotypes wasn’t just strong, it was combative. As we approached the restaurant, we were walking side by side, and I subconsciously reached across her to hold open the door. She stopped dead, and we waited for an awkward minute until I walked in in front of her. At the restaurant, she ordered my drink and tried to order my dinner. I interrupted her, not out of masculine panic, but because I had an allergy she wasn't taking into account.

This seems like a relevant time to bring up the fact that the restaurant (she’d chosen, of course) was a tiny French bistro that would have been packed with twenty people in it. Except it was a Tuesday, so we were the only ones there — for the entire duration of our meal. The sole waiter spent the entire evening standing about a foot away from our table.

This is relevant because after we’d completed our order — talking over each other in what must have been a near nonsensical stammer — we began to fight. Like, not quibble, argue. I said, “You’re very assertive,” to which she responded, “Ugh, does that make you feel weak?” Her tone of voice was downright mean. For close to an hour, we yelled at each other like an old married couple, with the poor waiter awkwardly intervening every once and a while.  

For the record, I don’t consider myself an argumentative person. But I’m also not willing to sit calmly by as a woman with whom I've spend a total of one hour calls me a Neanderthal. So I argued back. And I lost. In retrospect, yelling “I do respect women, goddamn it!” at a pretty woman in a dress is about as effective as yelling “I’m not an alcoholic!” to an AA meeting.

When we left (we split the check), we parted ways at the door without so much as handshake. I walked down the block after the worst first date ever. Half of me wanted to go to a boxing gym and punch the shit out of something. The other half wanted to go home and cry. — Jason Mendelson

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