The X, Y and Me Affair

Or, the nail-biting saga of X’s thousand ladies, Y’s thousand accolades and Rebecca’s millefeuille (literally ‘thousand leaves’–the French puff pastry with cream commonly known in the U.S. as a Napoloeon, a pastry I am not presently eating but what if I were? How you would clamor for my thousand leaves then!)

X: X is so dull, sweet and unsatisfying and yet so many thousand ladies grovel good-naturedly before him. I envy him.

Y: Y is so academically-entrenched, liberal-minded and scarily insensate, sane and socially mobile. I fear her.

Me: O, Rebecca, you are hungry for French pastries, but no one will feed you. You are dissatisfied, anxious-ambivalent AND preoccupied. I will take you up in my/your arms and love you as only I/you can. I am you!

Regarding X: He is loved! Or seems to be. Myriads of monotonic well-wishers coo and ooh all over him. This makes me angrily envious, for how is it that he’s deserved all this warm-hearted encouragement? What about me? Do I too have to be dumb, kind and thankfully non-sadistic to warrant that kind of affection? Or is it only that he’s charmed everyone? I knew it! You never can trust that unreliably undiscriminating lovey-doveyness! And furthermore, it’s fake! It must be! Or is it? Either he’s manipulatively charismatic with his at-odd-interval dispensed snippets of affection that hungry affection-starved individuals accept or he really is as dull, sweet and limited as I suspect and the Ladies Love Cool X. I guess. Either way, I’m angry. Why don’t I get as many adoring groupies?

Regarding Y: She scares the hell out of me! With her stupidly smiley smug mug, the mug of one who has met success and found it… well, who am I to say how she has found it? Everything’s relative, after all. Perhaps she feels very alone at the top, and powerless to make manifest her sadness. Maybe. But she strikes me as creepily happy, bland, pleasantly placid and academically enhanced! She is passionless, insecurity-and-empathy-uninterested; a cardboard competition machine! She’s always seemed mean to me, a perfectionist with a big, overcompensating smile that strategically serves as the bait and switch for her secret sinister… desire to succeed. Which is fine. I just don’t like to think that people like that succeed, the kinds of people with their clean lines and bold colors, blue-state American sensibleness, but also bloodlessness. Boring, hungry-for-the-top success stories!

Regarding Rebecca: The Story of a Woman Who Had Everything But Found Something More… no, my tale is not the gender-emended tagline to the movie ‘Regarding Henry.’ Or is it? Stay tuned (to Barbarism) to stay informed.


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