Let's say a guy named Steve is attracted to a woman named Courtney. He asks her out to a
movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time. A few nights later he asks her out to dinner,
and again they enjoy themselves. They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while
neither one of them is seeing anybody else. And then, one evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to Courtney, and, without
really thinking, she says it aloud: "Do you realize that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each
other for exactly six months?"
And then there is silence in the car. To Courtney, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to
herself: Geez, I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by
our relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he
doesn't want, or isn't sure of.
And Steve is thinking: Gosh. Six months.
And Courtney is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of relationship, either.
Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I'd have time to think about whether I really want
us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily toward... I mean, where are we going? Are we
just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy? Are we heading toward marriage?
Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I
really even know this person?
And Steve is thinking: ...so that means it was... let's see...February when we started going out,
which was right after I had the car at the dealer's, which means... lemme check the odometer...
Whoa! I am way overdue for an oil change here.
And Courtney is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I'm reading this completely
wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he
has sensed-even before I sensed it-that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's
why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid of being rejected.
And Steve is thinking: And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission again. I don't care
what those morons say, it's still not shifting right. And they better not try to blame it on the cold
weather this time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a garbage
truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves $600.
And Courtney is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too. I feel so guilty,
putting him through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure.
And Steve is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90-day warranty...scumballs.
And Courtney is thinking: Maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a Knight to come riding up
on his white horse, when I'm sitting right next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being
with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about me. A person who is
in pain because of my self-centered, schoolgirl romantic fantasy.
And Steve is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them a warranty. I'll take their
warranty and stick it right up their...
"Steve," Courtney says aloud.
"What?" says Steve, startled.
"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. "Maybe I
should never have... Oh God, I feel so..."
(She breaks down, sobbing.)
"What?" says Steve.
"I'm such a fool," Courtney sobs. "I mean, I know there's no knight. I really know that. It's silly.
There's no knight, and there's no horse."
"There's no horse?" says Steve.
"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Courtney says.
"No!" says Steve, glad to finally know the correct answer.
"It's just that... it's that I... I need some time," Courtney says.
(There is a 15-second pause while Steve, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe
response. Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work.)
"Yes," he says.
(Courtney, deeply moved, touches his hand.) "Oh, Steve, do you really feel that way?" she says.
"What way?" says Steve.
"That way about time," says Courtney.
"Oh," says Steve. "Yes."
(Courtney turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous
about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)
"Thank you, Steve," she says.
"Thank you," says Steve.
Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until
dawn. Whereas when Steve gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV,
and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two
Czechoslovakians he never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that
something major was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure
there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it's better if he doesn't think
about it.
The next day Courtney will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and they will talk
about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she
said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression,
and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification. They will continue to
discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite
conclusions, but never getting bored with it, either.
Meanwhile, Steve, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual friend of his and Courtney's,
will pause just before serving, frown, and say: "Dave, did Courtney ever own a horse?"
And that's the difference between men and women.
