I've written here before at length about the importance of female friendships in my life, and I definitely still feel that way, wholeheartedly. I think that women sustain and fulfill each other in a way that is completely different from the relationships we have with men, in an irreplacable way. But when you get a lot of us together? That's when shit gets tricky.
That's when you have to watch out for female mob mentality.
It happens a lot in the bathroom, FMM, mostly because we can't seem to go to the bathroom by ourselves when we're out in public and also because we're fairly often drunk when we're in those bathrooms in our little packs, one of us peeing while one of us picks at her face in the mirror while the other one is regaling the other two with some dramatic story that is probably actually about as dramatic as an episode of Two and a Half Men.
Cue: FMM.
Not only do we have to tell the tale of whatever has happened at length and in detail, we have to receive the analysis and affirmation of the other females in the mob. And what this often means is that "my boyfriend was 20 minutes late picking me up" turns into "he is cheating on me with that chick who works the counter at the BP and they did it in the gas station bathroom while I was slaving away on my outfit to look good for him THAT BASTARD I DESERVE BETTER."
And that's the worst of it all -- we're so good at uplifting each other in times like these that we invent anger, create this rage that never should've existed, never would've existed if we hadn't spent 20 minutes in the ladies' room pep talking each other with phrases like, "You know you are so much better than that" and "you deserve someone who really cares about you" and "you are so smart and talented and wonderful and he needs to treat you like the SPECIAL GIFT THAT YOU ARE." Just to name a few.
We probably will not stop to consider that he might have been 20 minutes late because he was ironing his suit because he wanted to look good for that big date or maybe he had a little nervous B.M. he needed to get out of his system or maybe (just maybe) he actually just lost track of time. Because in fact, all rational thought is pretty much off-limits when FMM strikes. We're just huddled there, feeding each other's flames of ridiculous, over-the-top selfish reactions and anxiety and yes, CRAZYMOUTH.
And when eventually all of this gets translated to whateve poor, unsuspecting male is involved this time, he will likely think (or say aloud, if he has balls-o-steel), "Where did this come from?"
And let's make no mistake about it: that will be a completely valid question. And I hope that someday he will learn that it did not have a single, solitary thing to do with him. Because it came right directly from female mob mentality, the black hole where reality and face value have been vacuumed out and all that exists is pitchforks and hay bales and lots of angry villagers who totally heard what you did and they are ready to RAGE.
Since they say the first step is admitting you have a problem, I'm going to be actively working to remove FMM from my life, by trying to think through things by myself before heading to the mob. It's hard to fight that primal female urge to blurble everything to someone else so that they can process it and regurgitate it back to you like an emotional fax machine, but I will do it. Because god knows there is enough CRAZY in my brain right now, all by its ownself.
cheers,
elizabeth
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