
Why isn’t love an equation that adds up? Why does loving someone seem to guarantee that they won’t love you back? Why can’t those that love us be interesting enough or fuckable enough for us to love them back? When I love him/her, why doesn’t he/she love me?
These are the questions that are asked by the poor souls that populate those bars with darkly lit booths and lots of cheap whiskey, or that fill those French café’s with stiff backed chairs and exotic black teas. Or, if they are really into self-torture, they hang out in brightly lit bars with stiff backed chairs and drink nothing but Hot Toddies.
One can hear the sweetly straining sounds of melancholy music in the background of these questions, begging for sympathy and understanding, and one can almost pity these people… almost.
But then one remembers one distinct and fundamental truth, as it is communicated to us by Hollywood… when you hear people asking these forlorn questions about love and loss, there is apparently only one response:
“He’s just not that into you.”
This answer, for some reason (or lack of reason), is completely devoid of gender variability… apparently love has nothing to do with what women are thinking, it is merely a matter of whether or not men are, or are not, into women.
This, especially for pimply-faced 17 year old boys everywhere, might be difficult to accept… but apparently it is true. One wonders what a worried single lesbian might have to say about this gender-biased terminology… but they all live in Brooklyn, and won’t be going to see this movie anyway, so it doesn’t matter.
So, because they said it, it must be true… “He is just not that into you.”
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