have each other, that’s all they need in life.”
“They aren’t all like that,” Lisa insisted. “Besides, the characters are good.”
“Oh please, I bet the males are all strong, tough guys on the outside but, around the love of their life, they open up and share all their thoughts and feelings. And I bet the females are all doe-eyed and innocent and just idolise the man that they love.”
“Actually, that’s not true; Savannah just told her father that she doesn’t care about his demands and that she’ll live her life how she wants to, with or without his blessing,” Lisa stated, a slight huffiness to her tone.
I couldn’t help but let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Yeah, I bet Savannah’s gonna be a real hell-raiser.”
A sharp look from Lisa told me that I was very close to crossing the line from friendly banter into insulting my boss.
“Ah look, that table needs clearing,” I said, hurrying away before Lisa remembered that the back-up grill could use a good clean.
As I cleared the plates and wiped down the table, I contemplated for the millionth time why Lisa’s reading choices always seemed to irritate me so much. I liked to tell myself that it was because the books promoted such stereotypical characters, that in a modern society like ours we should want more open-mindedness. But, if I was honest, it was because I always felt like any book or film that contained that image of true, perfect love was a real “up yours” at me. They basically pointed out that two people from almost any background could fall in love, conquer all obstacles and spend their lives together. I didn’t care that they were fictional; I hated it being made to sound so simple when I could never get it right.
I knew the reason Lisa read those books was because she liked to dream that, one day, one of the guys from one of those books would march in here, sweep her off her feet and take her somewhere where she’d never have to see a fried egg again. Lisa’s dream was for a guy to fall madly in love with her and spend his life doting on her. My problem was the opposite. Men were crazy about me – crazy being a very appropriate word.
About a month after my fifteenth birthday, I started to notice that men looked at me differently. It was like some invisible switch inside me had flipped and suddenly I went from being a completely average teenager to someone that boys and men of all ages started noticing when I walked into a room. Most guys just looked, but others seemed compelled to come and talk to me. To the devastation of all the popular girls at school, half the boys in our school year asked me to the end of school party, which ironically scared me enough to put me off going altogether. As much as becoming a guy-magnet overnight sounds like a great thing to happen, all it did for me was to send me into a spiral of paranoia. I was sensible enough to know that there was something very unnatural about the sudden and drastic change. It scared the hell out of me and I retreated even further into the protective shell I’d created for myself.
Unfortunately it only got worse as I got older. Being a young teenager had been enough to keep most men at bay but the older I got, the less qualms men seemed to have about hitting on me, even if they were three times my age. It made living a normal life impossible. There was no point in me making friends because they just grew to hate me when they caught their boyfriends or dads looking at me. I couldn’t have a relationship because even if, on paper, the guy seemed perfect for me I just couldn’t get past that fact that his attraction for me didn’t seem genuine. I could never shake the feeling that they seemed almost brainwashed into liking me. On the few occasions when I'd thrown caution to the wind and decided to just try and have a normal relationship, things got sour pretty quickly. The more time I spent with a guy the more his interest would grow until it became obsession.