Sometimes it’s like I don’t know what decade I belong in.
I am an independent woman (thank you Destiny’s Child for ruining that term BTW), and I can take care of myself. I do what needs to be done to make sure my son has the necessities in life. I work 8-5, Monday through Friday, and spend some of my out-of-work time doing freelance editing gigs. I pay my bills on time and can take care of myself thankyouverymuch.
But when I go on a date, I find myself almost expecting the guy to pay. It’s actually a bit of a relief when he pays for dinner and the movie (or whatever non-cliched date thing we might do). No joke.
There’s always a part of me that screams, EQUALITY! YOU DON’T NEED ANY MAN TO TAKE CARE OF YOU! YOU ARE CAPABLE OF PAYING FOR DINNER!
That’s the part of me that was born in the 80s. After women could vote and work and do anything a man can do (only get paid less to do it, what?). The part of me that was raised to wear jeans and have short hair if I like and can ask a boy out if he takes too long to ask me out.
Then there’s the part of my biology that never divorced itself of primary male and female roles. That’s the part that wants him to pay, to open doors, to drive, to work full-time if we get married so I can write/edit from home. There’s a part of me that still would like to be taken care of once in a while. The part of me that doesn’t want to be everything all the time. The part of me that wants to just shrug off some responsibility.
That’s where dating comes in. When I go on a date, it’s a break for me. I’m not the overwhelmed mother of one struggling to make each paycheck last until the next. I’m just a girl who wants to be taken care of for an evening.
And my independent-I-can-do-anything side of me hates me for that.