It’s Friday night and I’m having one of my usual spa dates with Steph. This is our little ritual. Steam, bubbles, a bottle of champagne and a full-on emotional excavation. It always turns into the kind of evening where you go in thinking you’re just going to relax and somehow end up discussing your entire life while lying on a heated bed in your bikini, looking like a woman who has made peace with everything except the price of dating and the state of men.
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There was a time when love was a handwritten letter sealed with a kiss, when the scent of perfume lingered on a piece of parchment, and the anticipation of your lover’s next move was as intoxicating as the scent of jasmine on a summer’s night. Today, we swipe and we scroll our way through potential partners, hoping that behind each pixelated profile lies a heart as true as the words penned by Mr. Darcy to Elizabeth Bennet.
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The other day a friend sent me one of the funniest comedy performances I’ve ever seen, where Dave Chappelle proceeded to talk about what a catastrophe it was that Chivalry was dead… Cue all the women in the audience cheering loudly
Then he said… Women killed it – complete silence.
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