“It’s amazing! I mean, nothing sticks to it!” “That’s right, and whats’ more, it is impossible to scorch! We’re using an industrial blowtorch to burn these eggs into the pan, and look! They slide right out!” “Wow. What does a pan like this cost?” I groped around the blankets for the remote. “Only 3 easy payments of $24.95, but that’s not all … ” With my eyes closed, I pointed the remote over my shoulder and clicked the power button, plunging the bedroom into darkness and silence. I rolled over to my other side, and faced the window toward the street. $75 for a frying pan? Wow. Pulling the blanket up more snuggly around me, I opened my eyes and stared into the darkness. The spotlight on the house across the street came on, revealing rivulets of rain, streaming down the glass, casting an animated patterned shadow across my blanket. It’s raining. I didn’t know we were getting rain … The light shut off, putting me back in the dark. I closed my eyes and thought about what I had heard, and I still couldn’t find peace with it. “Women with Daddy Issues are 100% undatable.” Deep beneath the blankets, I rhythmically tapped the side of my foot against the mattress as I furrowed my eyebrows in the dark. I thought about my father. I missed him. I always miss him. And Mom, too. No Daddy issues, here. I’ve got every other issue on record, but not that one. At least. A car drove by and I listened to the distinctive sound wet tires make on pavement. I always thought it almost sounds like the tires are sticky, or something. My eyes fluttered shut and I thought about John, as I always do. I remembered our first date, and I thought about the quaint little log pub and the soft lighting and the ambiance, at this most perfect little spot he chose. I didn’t know it, but that night would change my whole life.

I fell back into my own memory, and was there with him again, sitting at the tall pub table against the wall, beneath a poster advertising a 4th of July bash. It was late August. John saw me looking at it and said, “Well, that’s plenty of notice for next year.” I laughed. He laughed. Silence. He gazed down at his menu and I studied his face. He’s handsome. He’s all man, this one. Absentmindedly, I rolled a single grain of salt under my middle finger, back and forth. Hhmmm. Wow. I rolled that salt piece in little circles as my eyes slid all over his face and took in his features. I looked at his broad shoulders and noticed how the fabric of his button down shirt pulled across his chest. He’s a big guy … he’s strapping. My eyes drifted back up to sweep over his solid jaw and his mouth. He has beautiful lips. He’s really handsome. My eyes drifted up to his eyes and I saw him watching me. Embarrassed, I looked down at the table and swept the piece of salt away with the side of my hand and opened my menu. I slowly looked back up at him and he was still watching me. He smiled. I smiled and cleared my throat. The waiter appeared and plunked down our drinks, clearly in a rush. My drink sloshed a little, and dripped down my glass, and before I could wipe it up, John reached across the table and swiftly placed my glass on a napkin. He said, “Yeah, I’m the youngest of 5. All boys,” “I’m the youngest of 6,” I smiled. “One boy.” John smiled, too and said, “You, uh, you close with your family?” “Yeah,” I answered. John said, “How do you get along with your father?” What? I looked at him. John was reading his menu. “My dad?” I asked. “Mm-Hmm,” He answered. “My dad … my dad’s gone. He passed away.” John looked up from his menu at me for a moment before he spoke. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Really.” “Thank you,” ” … How, uh … ” and he looked back down at his menu before he finished his sentence. ” … how did you get along with your father?” And he looked back up, straight into my eyes, holding my gaze. ” … He was my best friend,” I answered. John nodded and smiled softly. “MmmHmmh,” he breathed, barely audible. He nodded again and smiled as he looked back down at his menu. “That’s great.”

So I escaped the guillotine because I was close with my father? Well, that’s hardly fair, I surmised. Talk about throwing the baby out with the bathwater. I yawned and arched my back in a nice long stretch, gathering my pillow against me. So no matter how great I might have been, if I’d had a poor relationship with dad, he wouldn’t have dated me any more? I just couldn’t wrap my mind around this. I counted Red Pills until I fell asleep.

Driving with John the next day, I asked him what it was, exactly, about women with Daddy Issues. Wasn’t it unfair to lump them all together? And more importantly, has he ever had a woman with Daddy Issues? I mean, is this opinion based on experience? “Yes, I have, and every time, without fail, it ended in disaster,” he said. “Why?” I asked. “And listen,” he continued, “They’re not bad women, they’re not bad people, but they are hard to date because more often than not, they are dragging heavy baggage behind them, whether they mean to or not, and any man in their path will end up tripping over it. It’s not fair. It’s difficult to try to ‘make up’ for the hurts they have other their fathers.” ” … like … ?” I prodded. “Like, if her father wasn’t around, you know, she wasn’t raised with him … those women tend to be excessively clingy, afraid of being abandoned. They have tremendous trust issues, and absolutely nothing will ever convince them, on an unconscious level, that the man in their life isn’t their father … isn’t going to abandon them, isn’t going to hurt them.” I sat in my seat next to him, watching the white line on the road curve as we drove, deep in thought. John continued, “And more often than not, these woman already have a string of very unhealthy relationships, and then a healthy guy comes along and he doesn’t even have a chance.” I was thinking about some of my friends; friends that I know have past hurts over their fathers, and I had to admit that, yes, I recognize this in them.

But what about women like me? I don’t have Daddy Issues, and it’s women like me, who DO trust and love freely, that get steamrolled and cheated on and lied to and hurt. Why? Because we don’t see it coming. Because our fathers didn’t hurt us, so we don’t expect the men in our lives will, either. So it’s easier to lie to us, easier to get away with stuff, easier to double cross. I thought about what the shrink said to me, and I realized that all of the men in my life that cheated on me, did so because I don’t have these issues; I never saw it coming, and they knew it. Candy from a baby.

On the one hand is the woman who trusts nobody and makes her man miserable because she hurts so deeply. On the other hand is the woman who trusts everybody and gets taken advantage of, and ends up with issues. Which is worse?

This is the Red Pill. To be continued …