Published in Edition Three (2024) as part of the Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune column

“It's not that I hate you 

I hate that it hurt 

There's nothing else to it 

I can't do anything more” 

- Lizzy McAlpine, an ego thing, five seconds flat. 

Tricking a boy into liking you is a delicate science. About as delicate as running a country, going to war or starting a cult. Takes a lot of brute force, luck and also silence. Your fingers have to be delicate on the big red button. It’s like Yo-Yo Ma playing ‘Hot Cross Buns’. In case the men in the crowd don’t get that reference, Yo-Yo Ma is a cello player. Yes, I know classical music is boring.Yes, I know you need a beat to enjoy a song. With that out of the way… 

At first he seems completely normal. Like he might just genuinely act how he feels. But then, if you look a little too hard into his eyes, you see something. 

His eyes are empty, like a vacuum cleaner dustbin after you empty it into your wheelie bin. On the surface he’s calm; fun even. He doesn’t really care either way about really anything really. He’s like totally chill, as if he’s brand new to the world. He answers every witty remark with another wittier one. He has this very sociable quality to him, and you feel warm when he deigns to smile at you with that infectious kind of newborn smile he has. As long as you keep him entertained, keep him happy, he’ll keep giving you that energy back. And his energy is like that of a labrador or a golden retriever. At first. Yes, throw him your words like a ball across the park and he’ll run for it, panting. It’s all true. Take it from me. 

But then, and you’ll see this if you narrow your search in the other direction, behind his eyes there’s something odd. Something we as women don’t experience. It’s as if he hates you, deep down, only you know it's not personal because that quality never leaves. It’s like when you bite into a muffin and it tastes like baking soda. That’s what you see–baking soda–in his eyes, behind the childlike wonder that makes you wonder if he’s ever experienced what you’re about to put him through (what he’s about to put you through). Because those are the rules of every situationship: there has to be a disconnect. Both parties must have ill intent. It's always a standoff. Do all men hate women? Is that what it is? 

You seem to say, why don’t we do this the fun way? As you look into his eyes, as though speaking to something bigger than him. Why can’t we just do this the fun way? 

Of course, you know you’ll never win. Because it's one woman versus the entire history of man. Like I said, it’s bigger than him alone. It’s larger than life, even. He has to ruin your life, it’s his destiny. This is what people mean when they say it’s fate–you were both made specifically to meet at this very time and torture each other in this very way. This! This is the Bad Place! 

You seem to assume it’s your fault, your issue. Really, it’s just in-person birth control, the kind that follows you around. You don’t ever want to play the game it takes to get to the fun part–you just want to begin at the fun part. But the truth is, there are two ways that anything can be done. Usually, the less-fun one in the short term ends up being the better one in the long term. It’s a life lesson; that’s what the cards say. So, you just do it. Do what He wants. He will give you what you want, He is the key to the fun part on this one. 

You’re going to have to lie. That’s kind of just the way it goes–you don’t want Him to know what you know about you. Don’t tell Him that your parents are batshit crazy and you become more like them every day. Don’t tell Him that you got an 80 ATAR and are here on special entry. Most of all, don’t tell Him why you know how to sell a house in excruciating detail. Don’t tell Him anything. Even if it made you who you are; especially if it made you who you are. He should not find out you’re fundamentally a bad person until it’s too late and He already loves all the good things about you. After all, that’s what He’s doing to you. Reciprocity is key. 

It’s interesting, he frequently forgets to add details that seem to conveniently not exist. You think to ask, why didn’t you tell me you are a bad person? But then you think he’d ask it back. It’s a cold cold war. What is it good for? Absolutely nothing (good God, y’all). See, he could reply to your messages straight away, but then you’d have control. We’d be on your schedule. That’s not what he wants–he wants you to be on his schedule, so he waits something like 48 hours. Just to throw you off. See, now she’s off her rhythm, he whispers into his phone, feeling unique like an evil mastermind but just looking like a teenage boy who is playing a teenage girl. 

And if you’re lucky, you might succeed. Interesting how you winning a war just means convincing someone of the opposite sex that you’re worth it. Otherwise, you end the year with a bunch of meaningless texts on your phone, that once would’ve made you feel like throwing up, and yet another man who will show up during mercury retrograde, ready to do it all again.