There’s this girl you see on the street – she’s dressed from head-to-toe in black with a gold belt and designer shoes and bag. She pulls her blonde hair back sleekly and tightly and her eyes are hidden away from sunglasses far too large for her face. She walks with an extra kick in her step displaying a certain confidence to the world. She looks like business and watches those around her with scrutiny – even from far away, she appears to be someone I’d let lead if we shared a sidewalk.
She walks through the park swiftly and takes a seat next to a man on a bench, crossing her legs away from him and looking in the opposite direction. From M and I’s view atop the hill looking down at them sneakily under our own sunglasses that are too big for our faces, it’s obvious there is some tension between the two. They start by sharing headphones and after a while, she muscles a grin and he rests his hand on her knee. Sensing all was well, I returned to my trashy magazine and attempted to sun myself when M nudges me to pay attention again.
Now, she was standing up, her hands are up, her chin is up – she’s all up in arms about something. Although New York’s background music prevented M and I from eavesdropping, she was so upset by something he did or didn’t do that tears were now destroying her precisely-applied makeup. He, however, wasn’t budging. He sat firmly without moving, the iPod still in his hand, the headphones flirting with the pavement. A family with a child on a bike pass them by and she looks off into the distance, arms crossed and her body heaving as if she was sobbing.
Though she probably started to walk away from him and the conversation, she stopped, meaning she wanted the chase. He obliged and came over to console her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the side of her head. For a moment it looks like they reconnect, but then she pushes him away and the rampage starts again, signifying the fight is not dissolved. She goes to rush off in a hurry, even grabbing her Louie and marching away – but this time he doesn’t go after her. He sits down on the bench, placing his hands on his head and sighing deeply. She comes over and smacks him to look up at her and when he refuses to continue the argument, she spits on him.
Yes, literally spit on the man.
At this point M and I are leaving the park to head back to our respective apartments, so I have no idea how this ended or what he did in response to her loogie. But as we departed, we chatted about how the girl was acting crazy. She was obviously upset about something – and maybe he did something profoundly shitty – but is it ever appropriate to spit on someone? Especially your significant other?
During our discussion, it occurred to both of us that all women are crazy little freaks from time-to-time. I’ve had my own share of emotional outbursts, shoving a boyfriend up against a wall in anger, throwing a four-inch stiletto at another’s face, and breaking a bottle of expensive cologne in haste. I’ve refused to go to bed frustrated, though if I would have it would have saved both of us some tears and regrettable words. I’ve shown myself in an ugly light in front of friends and family, strangers and people I probably should have tried harder to impress.
But that’s the thing about emotions is that everyone, no matter how mature or together, no matter how many breakups or makeups we’ve endured, lets them get the best of them at times. And it’s not just women – men just happen to show their crazy little freak differently. Some guys take flight and some stay to fight, some are violent and some remove themselves from the situation, turning off their phone and disappearing for a few days to clear their head.
Yet the double standard persists, when a guy does this, he’s being a guy; when a girl has an emotional outburst, she’s labeled a crazy bitch. Even if the majority of time, she’s rather level-headed and collected. Is it that men can’t handle it when we have a hard time handling something or do they not want to take responsibility for provoking us? Or do we tap into our insecurities and our own trust issues, only letting those back-burner demons out to play when everything seems to start boiling?
I don’t know – but the key to being a cray little freak is to learn to forgive yourself. If a guy loves and cares about you, if he’s worth that energy, emotional stress, and commitment, then he will forgive you too. These things happen, we all lose our cool when something or someone gets the best of us, and while spitting isn’t encouraged, getting out that frustration is. And if you worry about the guy hitting the road, don’t stress. If he goes, he goes. Rest assured there is still someone out there who will handle your crazy little freak with care because he knows deep down, even in his super-duper cool facade, a crazy little freak lives in him, too.