I'm at a family barbecue, enjoying my summer shandy when my aunt asks if I'm seeing anyone.
Consequently, I try to laugh it off and cut the conversation short before my mom overhears and cracks a joke about how far off she is from being a grandmother.
I've been told time and time again that I'm “wifey material,” yet, here I am, without a damn “hubby.” Maybe it's my guy friends trying to make me feel better, or maybe it's the hookup culture that's slowly ruining the integrity of relationships.
As I get played by yet another guy and deal with another one coming and going as he pleases, I start to wonder, who's the real problem here: them or me?
When I was in high school I thought I was the problem. Every guy I had interest in turned out to be an asshole and the most stable “relationship” I had was so on-and-off, that even I couldn't keep track.
With that came my insecurities. I couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with me. Why didn't anyone like me enough to stick around? Why couldn't the one guy who kept coming back just stay with me for longer than a month at a time? By the time senior year rolled around, I chalked it up to immaturity. I brushed it all off and told myself it's completely normal to go into college without a single serious relationship under my belt. That is, until I got to college.
Everyone I met either came into college with a serious boyfriend (or as serious as it can get at 18 years old) or had a long-term relationship some time in their high school career. In this moment, I began to feel defeated again. Perhaps my taste in guys was pitiful. I mean, I am the one who let them into my life, right?
I continued the search for a faithful, funny, good looking, smart, kind, thoughtful guy to sweep me off my feet. Each time I thought I met someone who met the cut, there was another reason to cut it short. One was only in it for the sex; another was great on paper but missed the connection; the last started off perfectly, but ended up like the rest.
Not too long ago, on a drunken night at the Jersey Shore, my friends preached to me about how I'm “wifey material.” While a great honor, I was left confused. If I'm so “marry-able,” why have I yet to lockdown a “hubby?”
It's simple. The hookup culture glorifies side chicks and laughs with fuckboys. Millennials are interested in finding someone to love them, but not in finding someone to be committed to.
When we feel we're getting too close or attached, we run the other direction. When we feel someone is losing interest in us after our disappearance, we run back in hopes that they don't slip away. It's a game of cat and mouse and leaves amazing people wondering what's wrong with them.
It's not enough to just tell someone how great they are. It's not enough hook up with someone steadily and tell them sweet things without being committed to them. Society is harsh and causes enough insecurities for both men and women. Why are we willingly adding onto it by refusing to commit?
Many of us know how it feels to only be half-committed, and I think we can all agree it causes insecurities we can't control. We aren't sure what we're insecure about, but we are.
The "wifeys" and 'hubbys' of the world are left to think we're doing everything wrong, when we're actually doing everything right. As if dating wasn't already confusing enough, the hook-up culture just had to swoop in and jumble up everything we thought we knew.
At this point I feel there's nothing left to do but wait.
Wait for someone who is “hubby material” and hope to the heavens that he doesn't turn out like the rest of them.