Book Excerpt: Tales for Delicious Girls by Relationship Expert Barbora Knobova

Looking back at some of my serious relationships, would-be relationships, love affairs and relationships beyond any definition, my mind boggles at all those things I was (almost) able to do for men. I almost became a Jew, a Muslim, a devoted member of the Anglican Church and a lover of mushy peas that I’ve hated since kindergarten. I put up with possessive mothers-in-law, admired jealous sisters-in-law, played with unbearably spoiled nephews and adoringly took care of senile aunts. I went on a four-day trek through the desert and ate maces in a kibbutz, although I’m a convinced city girl. I celebrated Pesah, Ramadan and I almost had
myself christened. I also almost moved a few times, changed my job and pretended that I was not at all cold in that awful chilly apartment with mold on the walls, and that it was an amazingly manly, bohemian pad. A week after a major surgery, I dragged myself through bleak December London by public transport only to prove what a cool and low-maintenance girl I was. Not to mention the emotional and financial damage that I suffered during all those enthusiastic efforts, and that I did not give a damn about until I completely sobered up and started to act again as a rational homo sapiens, that is, as a person compos mentis.

And why am I writing all this? Because of the extremely important word “almost”.

Because of the little word “almost”, thanks to which I now recall all those crazy and idiotic escapades bordering on derangement with grace, amusement and with a smile on my face. Because of the word “almost”, thanks to which I actually like remembering them because l’aventure c’est l’aventure, or adventure is adventure, as a French movie with Lino Ventura claims. And adventure is necessary, adventure ensures that I will not get bored and that one day I will have something to tell my grandchildren (supposing I withhold a few unimportant details that I prefer not to admit even to myself).

However, some women have tough luck with the word “almost”, as it seems to avoid them. It keeps jumping back, hiding and reappearing. And from the heights of its own elusiveness, it laughs at them and mocks them. In the upshot, many of us end up with an empty bank account, with an empty apartment, with empty hands and hitting rock bottom. At the best, with bruises on our soul. At the worst, with bruises even on the soul’s outer wrapping.

Nevertheless, this chameleon syndrome implying “I will be what you want me to be” probably affects only women. If you know a man who, because of “the love of his life”, gives up his job, his family, his fat cat whose hairs you are allergic to, and his disgusting high school sneakers that are “as good as new”, introduce him to me. Introduce him to me and I will have him submitted to a thorough psychological examination as an absurd natural phenomenon.

A man is simply an inadaptable creature. A man goes to bed when he is sick, even if a windstorm takes away the roof above his head and his boss threatens to fire him. A man eats what he likes, in the pub that he has adored since college parties. A man does not pretend that his biggest dream is to spend the evening with you and your bitter high school friend “whom you can’t stand anyway, you told me that last Wednesday”. He does not walk your beagle if he hates dogs. And he does not join you on a guided tour in Madrid if he is all but enthusiastic about the gems of architecture. And a man does not care if you like it or not, if you fume with rage, cry or get mad and stop talking to him. He does not care what the others think of his decisions, choices and wacky opinions. He couldn’t care less, and actually, he wouldn’t even think of worrying about it because it’s a loss of time and especially of energy that needs to be saved for much more meaningful and much more entertaining stuff.

And that’s the point. Why do women trim their sails while men remain in their comfort zone? Why do we push ourselves to the limit, live on our nerves, give up our soul, our personality, the little things we love? Why do we pretend, fake, lie blatantly to ourselves and on top of that manage to become convinced that it’s making us happy? Why do we rigorously get rid of everything that makes us unique? What for?

Let’s try to put an end to it once and for all. Let’s try to love ourselves unconditionally; let’s protect ourselves and everything that belongs to us. Let’s not conform to the needs, ideas or demands of relationships in which we cannot be ourselves and in which we don’t even recognize ourselves anymore. Because men, lovers, admirers and potential (sometimes even real) fathers of our children come and go; some stay for awhile, some stay a little bit longer and some might stay forever, but that’s something we never know in advance.

The only thing that stays forever is us. So don't ever give up on yourself, because you are your
own most precious possession.

Excerpt from Tales for Delicious Girls by Barbora Knobova. Visit the author's website at www.barboraknobova.com or purchase her book at Amazon!
Powered by Blogger.