He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

Women are not well equiped with the brain function that allows us to let relationships just be what they are. We suffer from accute neurosis. It's true, all of us do. The housewives, business women, feminist... every woman.

For the majority of my life I have lived believing that I am truly suffering from a terrible psychological disorder. OCD, is what I thought it was for a long time, until recently, when I discovered that I am not OCD. I actually suffer from an epidemic called mental vancer, onset by the bodily hormone called estrogen.

I embrace being of the species that carries this hormore, because this makes me and all of the other vancer patients smarter than the non-estro breed. However, you'd think by now, science would have found a way to make this genotype less concerned about analyzing male behavior patterns and more distressed about female job advancement.

The point, we as the people from Venus, have the problem of always debating whether or not the men in our lives are really that into us. For instance, sometimes we are hanging out with a man who likes playing kissy face with us, but rarely puts in a mid-week phone call. Does this mean that for this person, we're just a piece of ass? What about when he calls 4 or 5 times a day, does this mean that he's madly in love with me, or just desparate for a piece, any piece?

None of it makes since. Why can't it just be as easy as, I like you, do you like me back? Please check yes or no. I mean, I think that we had it right third grade when we passed stupid notes around. At least then we knew what we were up against. Now, dating is clouded with sex, emotions, and a clear failure to communicate.

Now that we're realized that it's not so easy, us women are STILL, years later, pulling the petals from our daisies wondering, "love me, love me not?"

Please, help save the daisies. Send a nice electronic note (as we're trying to save trees too).