Emily's Reasons Why Not Read Free

it’s a girl thing?”
    He obviously doesn’t know. This is a bad sign. He doesn’t understand that we, women, know within the first thirty seconds if we are interested in kissing, courting or having sex with a man. If he doesn’t know that about women, what the hell does he know?
    I decide to level with him. “Anyone who thinks that women are somehow less driven than men by chemical instinct is deluding himself. We do not see past the potbellies and back hair, looking for nothing more than a seven series BMW, a three-bedroom house, and a 401(k). We want the guy that floats our boat. And what’s true of most women is especially true of me. I mean, if I don’t want to instantly press my lips onto that guy in the first, I mean first thirty seconds, forget about it. Call me shallow. Call me whatever. But if I don’t want to throw him on the bed and get sweaty and naked, it’sover. I don’t want a lifetime of financial security if the trade off is passionless kisses while dreaming of George Clooney.”
    Is it possible to find a man who makes me hot, but who will still be a loving, loyal husband who makes me laugh? A provider and wonderful father to my children? Is this, too, a concoction of my preteens?
    “Every time I meet my potential husband, or someone I think could be my potential husband, or at the very least someone I will have sex with, the men who will have an impact on my life, hit it like a meteor hitting a small village, disseminating its populace, I get the ‘flutter, flutter.’”
    “That’s your internal warning system,” Dr. D. states clinically. “It’s good that you’re in touch with it. But next time you get … the ‘flutter, flutter’ I would prescribe the following behavior: Run. It’s your fight-or-flight instinct. A lot of women confuse it with fate, or destiny, or some other illusion clouding good judgment. Please continue about the potential boyfriend.”
    “Well, a guy who makes me laugh is important. And definitely a guy with a job.” I scratch my head …“And has his own car.” I pause for a minute. “A kind smile. I don’t know, that’s a good start … wait, and, and maybe,” I look down, “someone who makes me feel pretty.”
    “You are pretty,” Dr. D. states flatly.
    “Thank you. I guess I’m just waiting for my prince to come,” I add in hopes of taking the focus off my ridiculous list.
    Dr. D. looks concerned. “Emily, I am going to tell you something now and I want you to brace yourself for it.”
    No wonder I am single. Jesus, why did I go into the “flutter,flutter” thing? Is my list unrealistic? Is that why I’m single? I’m shooting beyond my means. NO. NO. NO. A guy with a job, nice forearms, and straight teeth is not too much to ask. Stay focused. Stay on the path. He’s coming. Right?
    I sit back and take a deep breath, clearing my head for whatever Dr. D. has to say.
    “Your prince is never coming.” He takes off his glasses and looks me straight in the eye. “He doesn’t exist. You need to stop looking for the right man and start looking out for the wrong men.”
    I hate therapy.
    “Here’s what I want you to do for our next session.” Dr. D. sets down his pad and pen. “I want you to think back to the first adult relationship that you had with a man in your twenties. Teens are too early. Then I want you to make a list, a list of ten things that went wrong, not with the relationship, but with the man. The cell phone with what’s his name …” he looks at his legal pad “… Reese, is a perfect example. Then, as we progress and you begin to date again, as, Emily, you will find love, you are going to write down ten potential problem areas, reasons you should not be with your new man before you give your heart away.”
    “Ten reasons?” I question, thinking to myself that Dr. D. is a mix between Tony Robbins and the professor from Gilligan’s Island .
    “It’s an exercise that will help you learn from the past and protect