Below is Jeremy Wikler’s Cedars column on love, except this one was deemed too offensive and for that reason I’m hosting it here instead. It’s really not all that shocking, but very funny, so check it:
“Friendship can sometimes end in love, but love in friendship, never.” – Charles Colton
If you think “I love you” is the most magical phrase in the English language, then this article may offend you. Therefore, anyone who is easily offended by a candid discussion about dating is exempt from reading this column, and may submit an official excuse to Cedars Editor-in-Chief, Carrie Schaeffer.
For those of you still with me, I want you all to prepare yourselves for some shockingly frank remarks and real-life stories that may mar this columnist’s reputation with the opposite sex for an indeterminable period of time.
If at times this article sounds bitter, consider yourself perceptive. I do not desire to go on a rant or a tirade against women, but they’ve forced me into it and there’s no turning back now.
Personally, I view love as a two-edged sword; you touch it and you’re going to get cut.
Allow me to support this statement with a little story.
You see, there was this girl. After working together at the Admissions Office for a few weeks, she began to frequently call my room at night. During these calls, she would talk to me about her problems in hopes that she could, dare I say, “use” me as her figurative shoulder to cry on.
Now, you must keep in mind that she was the one calling me. Well, one night, she calls me up and in her voice I perceived the all too familiar tone of “need.” At this point, I prepared myself to yet again lug the weight of her emotional baggage.
To my surprise, this phone call is very different from her previous ones. She begins by saying that a lot of her guy friends are really hoping to be more than just her friend. They just hang around her because she has such an amazing personality and is so gorgeous and ever so humble. Well, she wants to be sure that we are “just friends,” and that I am not getting the idea that we are going to become something more.
Whoa! Stop the bus!
Why am I receiving the “just friends” speech? I didn’t realize that we needed a DTR. I assure you that I was not pursuing her. Yet, there I was on the phone, awkwardly admitting that, “No. Yeah. We’re just friends.”
Her obvious mentality was that I, desperate Cedarguy, must have been falling for her, high commodity Cedarchick. This belief existed although I hadn’t asked her out on a date or pursued her in any way, shape or form. I must have indicated my undying love for her by picking up the phone when she called my room. How foolish of me. Whoops! My bad!
Maybe I am being unfair. Maybe I should present her side of the story. But I won’t! Because, hey, let’s face it, this is my column.
Some of you may be thinking, Ã¢â‚¬Å“Wow! Jeremy is so self-righteous and indignant!Ã¢â‚¬Â Well, in order to solidify that belief in your mind, allow me to go on.
My freshman year, I met this girl that I would deem as verifiably psychotic. I don’t throw around such insults lightly. Oh no. I reserve the word “psychotic” for rare situations that move out of the norm and into the “crazy as all get out” stage.
This girl was one of those people you meet on campus who knows your name before you tell her. She also knows your dorm of residence, number of siblings, and medical history. This is what I like to call a warning sign. Immediately, red flags were frantically waving in my mind begging that I pay them heed. I did not ignore the danger they forewarned.
Unfortunately, I chose not to completely shun this girl. I was congenial to her upon our initial meeting. At this point, we performed the run-down of the standard info. I told her my name, major, hometown, et cetera. Little did I know this was all old news to her.
The following semester I walked into one of the classes for my major, which happened to be Political Science at the time, and what to my wondering eyes should appear? But none other than this very same girl! She had previously been an English major but, after talking with me; Political Science seemed more up her alley. Super!
I did my best to avoid sitting near her in our shared classes and was met with limited success. Quickly, she proceeded to the next phase in her overall plan to possess a Jeremy Wikler for herself: the infamous pick-a-date.
Her roommate called me one night and asked if I would accompany their hall on a group outing. Knowing who lived in said hall, I quickly invented my “no pick-a-date” policy. This tactic saved me from this particular encounter, but before the end of the semester I would have to deny a request to join her on yet another of these hall dates.
Assuming that she had given up, I was surprised to be invited to attend the events of Homecoming weekend with her upon my return from summer vacation. After being turned down yet again, she asked me if I was avoiding her. I felt it appropriate at this point to give her a version of the “just friends” speech. I believe that this action was more than justifiable.
While I did feel bad to an extent for what occurred between us, I was relieved that we had no further encounters for the remainder of the year. But only a fool would believe that such a situation could be resolved with relative ease.
At the end of the year, she called my room and indicated that she had something to give me. Reluctantly, I drove over to her dorm before I headed out for home. She gave me a large envelope that I threw in with my other belongings, and we both wished each other a good summer.
After rediscovering this envelope amongst other assorted belongings at home, I proceeded to open it. What I found inside, I will never forget. She had enclosed a document that was over twenty pages in length. This opus contained a collection of her diary entries. In these, she questioned why I continually turned her down even though she “knew” we were meant to be together.
One entry of particular interest stated that she had come to a realization and was no longer concerned about our relationship. At first this encouraged me, but then I read on. She said that she was no longer concerned because she knew that we would one day be man and wife, and she would be the mother of my children.
I decided that in this instance a reply was not merely advisable but rather obligatory. My letter to her contained this short, pointed statement, “I do not believe that we will ever be more than friends, and at this point, I am not sure that we can even be that.”
Now in telling these stories, my intention was not to taint your view of love. … Okay, maybe it was. I think we can all learn something from these stories. The lesson is not that love inevitably leads to loss.
Rather, I think the real lesson is that love, while appealing, must be treated with great thought and care. So, the next time you are planning on dating or dumping that special somebody, just remember that he may write about you in a campus-wide publication. And that just might shock you.