Cliches are overused because they’re so often true. After all, there’s a little truth behind every lie, so it makes sense that we find ourselves returning to the overused, uncreative platitudes. So it’s no wonder that a lot of romances end with the triviality of "It’s not you, it’s me." Because, really, it’s probably you, and as for me, well, I got The Ick™.
"The Ick™," you say. "What is The Ick™?"
Oh, trust me, you know it, you just may not have known that there was a name for it until now. Consider the following scenario:
You meet a member of the opposite sex, and ZING! Sparks fly! Say it with me, friends, CHEMISTRY. A firm believer of the "if it’s not there from the onset, it’s not going to happen" tenet, and though others may disagree, Chemistry is a must. Without Chemistry, there’s no basis for The Ick™ to eventually rear its fugly head as – statistically – it probably will. But back to the story.
You’ve got your new ‘friend’, you’ve got Chemistry, and you start hanging out. You call. S/he calls. You text, you email, you IM…and so do they. The two of you are conveying mutual Interest (the next stage here in our fun little dating – or NotDating™ story, as it may be) and flirting is at an all time high. I’d even go so far to bet that you get a little NervousTummy when they’re around, or when you know they will be. Interest=Excitement and let’s face it, we all need a little Excitement now and again.
It’s right about now when you start getting content, start forgetting that in life there are often rules that need to be followed even if you don’t necessarily agree with them. (I mean, I think I should be able to kiss Chase from Laguna Beach, but the RULES think that someone born in 1988 is too young for me. Fuckin’ rules. But I digress.) One of these rules that holds true universally is the concept of mystery and challenge. Now, before you get all self-empowered on my ass, I’m not quoting that book, The Rules, nor do I agree with it. But what I *DO* agree with is the fact that biologically, traditionally, and rationally, challenge inherently translates into worth; i.e., if it’s too easy to obtain, you won’t work that hard for it. I firmly believe that the one that loves the least controls the relationship, a direct result of the imbalance of affection and its associated challenge. As such, this "comfort zone" you’re about to enter into is the kiss of death.
Plainly speaking, you’re about to get The Ick™.
I don’t know exactly how, or when, it starts, but you’ll know it one day when the object of your about-to-be-former affection comes around and you just don’t feel it. That little thing they said that you’d normally think was cute is now somehow completely irritating. For the first time you notice that they have small hands, and holy shit, that is totally your dealbreaker. HOW are you hooking up with someone with GIRL HANDS!?
Welcome to The Ick™.
Unfortunately, this disease of distaste and annoyance is as uncurable as it is ridiculous in nature. In fact, many times when you have The Ick™ you don’t WANT to because despite that rawkish laugh and their newly-discovered, completely unattractive back hair that you completely missed for the first few months, they’re awesome. They may be great in bed, they may be good for you as a person, and you may think there’s potential there. But the LAUGH! The BACK HAIR! THE GIRL HANDS – oh Dear Lord – it’s all too much. The switch has been flipped somewhere inside, somewhere hidden and mysterious and completely preposterous and unwarranted but it’s too late. The Ick™ – it’s terminal.
So as much as I wish it wasn’t the case – and trust me, I DO – It’s not me, it’s you. The Ick™ bares no mercy.
* Disclaimer: This is a true story only in the fact that it’s the
compilation of many, many years of experience and MANY conversations
with women who all agree on one thing, and that’s the experience related above.
It’s not about you insomuch it’s about you and you and you and you and
you times about forty-two. There’s no way to tell the story
without offending someone, so I’m just going to go ahead and offend
everyone. The end. Love, Aubrey.