Your Ex-Boyfriend Will Hate This (2015)

Chapter Fifteen

Rewriting the Rules - Part Two

So in the last chapter, we began a closer examination of the time-honored sexism you’ve probably been taught at some point in your dating life. The fact that it’s so time-honored is probably half the reason The Rules was once such a popular guidebook. There’s nothing in it that’s revolutionary (unless you consider self-loathing revolutionary). Rather, it simply gathers much of the silly advice that our parents grew up on and couches it in the language of self-help.

Of course, with “help” like this, I’d hate to see what the authors would suggest if they wanted to hurt you.

Most of what they tell you in the first book and in 1997’s The Rules II: More Rules to Live and Love By (oh yes, there’s a sequel) suggests they have little to no confidence in your ability to conduct yourself without drooling on your blouse. Between the two books, they explain “How to Act On Dates 1, 2, and 3,” “How to Act on Dates 4 through Commitment Time,” and they also provide “A Rules Refresher for Married Women.” As the latter title suggests, they don’t even trust you to make your own decisions once you’ve clapped their “Ankle Monitor of Love” around some poor bastard’s leg. As the first book declares in no uncertain terms:

Even if You’re Engaged or Married, You Still Need The Rules.

In both books, sex is a topic mostly dealt with as a necessary evil. Roughly summarized, sex is the man thing. He wants it, and since there’s no way you’re in it for anything besides procreation or ensnaring someone, you should hold off from sex as long as possible. You’re limited to “No More than Casual Kissing on the First Date” and told “Don’t Rush into Sex, Wait at Least Three Dates.” You half-expect the book to talk about what “base” you should let a boy get to and when (“No under the clothes petting before the junior prom!”), but such advice is sadly lacking. (Strangely, the book never explains what to do if you’ve been infected with “cooties.”) If that isn’t enough, by the second book they’re even commanding what to do after you tie the knot:

Rules for the Bedroom (When You’re Married)

That’s right; not even matrimonial penetration is beyond the purview of the authors. Listening to their joyless hectoring on the topic is a little like those times I heard someone describe sex as “overrated,” and I always thought, “sex isn’t overrated, but I bet sex with you is.”

By contrast, the author of this advice book thinks sex is pretty great. He also thinks you’re an adult who doesn’t need someone to tell you when, where, or how to have sex. You don’t have to answer to anyone of either gender about your sexual practices. Absolute equality is the wonderful result of the last forty years of social progress. So, if you want to go get laid just because you want it, with no emotional attachments, then go do it. Unless you’re in a committed relationship or married, it’s no one’s affair but your own.

Some guys will want to know how many other guys you’ve slept with. Don’t answer. Even if you’re in a relationship with him, what you did before meeting him isn’t his concern. The only sex-related questions that matter at all are:

1) Do you have kids?

2) Do you have an STD?

If the answers to those questions are satisfactory, move on and encourage him to do likewise. If he presses you for the number of past liaisons, say “none,” as in “none of your goddamned business.” And there is no such thing as an “acceptable” number. Depending on the study and location, the reported average number of sexual partners for modern women is anywhere between six and fifteen. Having more than that doesn’t make you a whore, and having less doesn’t make you frigid.

Whenever someone you’re dating asks your “number,” it is a loaded question with no right answers. If your number is low enough to avoid feeding the insecurities of the person asking, there’s no reward. If your number is “too high,” either because it exceeds his own or due to some bullshit idea of an acceptable number for your gender, you’ll surely be punished for it, if not immediately, then during some future argument.

No man who is secure in himself and his feelings for you will demand to know your number. As long as you’ve been open about anything that directly affects your relationship, your past is history—not current events. By the same token, his sexual past is none of your concern, either. Unless you’re worried that there a shortage of resentment and mistrust in your relationship, don’t ask him about it. Besides, needing to know says a lot more about you than the answer will reveal about him.

As to the question of an appropriate time to have sex, there isn’t a steadfast rule, at least not one that makes any sense. The Rules insists on at least three dates before sex. If waiting is so important, why not make it ten dates? That’s a nice round number and no more or less significant than three. Since we’re engaging in arbitrary numbers for arbitrary “rules,” why not be precise? Counting the number of “dates” leaves too much room for interpretation, seeing as a “date” in modern parlance can mean anything from a quick drink after work to a weekend in Malibu. Instead, let’s use a measurement of time that’s easily understood by anyone with a stopwatch and a fifth grade education. Here’s the new rule:

No sex for at least 736 minutes!

For those who choose to adhere to this new dictum, that’s a 736-minute ban on sex, starting from the moment you answer the door on the first date. Make sure to note the exact times of the beginning and end of your dates, logging each minute and keeping a running balance of the number of minutes you spend in New Guy’s presence. When that total reaches 736, congratulations! Feel free to engage in intercourse as soon as your coital alarm goes off, wherever you are at that moment. If that means engaging in hot reverse-cowgirl action in the middle of Bed, Bath & Beyond, so be it.

Rules are rules, after all.

If this new rule sounds outlandish (as it should to anyone who isn’t visiting our planet from an alien galaxy), ask yourself why it’s any sillier than the “three date” rule. Do you want an inflexible overlord dictating when it’s okay for you to climax?

Try another book. My own advice is to consider the situation, what your goals are, and what your instincts are telling you about the boy in question. If he seems mature enough to engage in mutually consensual casual sex on the first date without assigning any ridiculous aspersions to your character (or his), then go for it. If he seems like the type to judge you for it, why are you considering sharing such a special part of yourself with him in the first place?

We’ve all heard the adage that’s so decrepit it should’ve joined the AARP thirty years ago: Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?

These must’ve seemed like sage words during the Truman administration. Apparently, comparing women to dumb farm animals was perfectly acceptable back then. But despite what certain dubious dating books would have you believe, we don’t live in that age any longer, and thank God for that. Even as a kid, I thought it was a stupid saying. As an adult, I realize my appraisal wasn’t accurate. Actually, it’s insulting and stupid. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for our parents—especially our mothers—who were raised to believe that sex is a commodity like produce, whose value is regulated entirely by supply and demand.

Some would argue that sex is a commodity, considering that prostitution is the oldest known profession. But marriage and commitment aren’t merely about sex. If relationships were nothing more than an impersonal intercourse-delivery system, breakups wouldn’t be nearly so messy and painful. The act of splitting up would sound like this:

“Listen, I’ve spent some time analyzing my orgasm numbers for the last three months, and I’m seeing a clear decline in your performance. You’ve been a valuable asset, but I’m forced to make a tough executive decision here. I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you and your penis go.”

I’m not going to lie to you. There are plenty of men who view sex with the same callow chauvinism their idiot fathers taught them. They think you’re a cow that either does or doesn’t provide milk (it’s an unseemly metaphor, I’ll admit), and they may never marry you unless you do something drastic like denying them coital access until a magistrate is involved. Their aversion to commitment isn’t something to lament. It’s something to be grateful for. By showing their douchebag colors early, they’re saving you years of depression, quiet loneliness, and the regret that comes from being married to someone who is incapable of feeling or expressing adult love. Whether Anti-Commitment Guy realizes it or not, his DNA is telling him something on behalf of the human race:

Hey loser, don’t procreate! You’ll be a lousy father, plus the last thing we need is more jackasses like you peeing in the shallow end of the gene pool!

There is someone out there who’ll love you for the person you are, and he’ll marry you (if that’s your desire). He’ll even shudder to imagine a future without you in it. For him, marriage won’t necessitate emotional or sexual blackmail. It will be the most natural thing in the world. I can’t promise that you’ll stay married forever, but if you require guarantees, marry Anti-Commitment Guy. You’ll be guaranteed an ugly divorce, resentful kids, and years of bitterness.

Otherwise, be happy that Anti-Commitment Guy never dons the “old ball and chain” (another charmingly Neanderthal euphemism for marriage). By choosing arrested adolescence over commitment, he ensures a brighter future for you and the forthcoming generations that will be spared his dumbass progeny. In fact, you should send him a thank-you letter on the anniversary of your breakup. If you can’t think of what to write, use this:

Dear Anti-Commitment Guy,

Thank you for being such a selfish, immature disappointment. Your pig-headed inability to grow up, or to reciprocate the kindness, patience, loyalty, and unconditional love I gave all those years we were together freed me to meet someone truly worthy of my affections. Good luck with your bachelorhood and all the extra time it gives you for video games, televised sports, getting drunk by yourself, and jacking off to porn on your laptop in an empty apartment.

Sincerely,

The Last Chance for a Meaningful Existence You Ever Had

In the next chapter, we’ll reveal why the prevailing wisdom is wrong again. Breaking up isn’t hard to do, if you know when and how to do it. So let’s take a clean break from this chapter (it hurts, but in the end, it’s the right thing to do) and move on to Sixteen.