HE GAVE ME A TISSUE
(An original stand-up routine)
When I was in high school, I was a very smart woman.
And by smart, I don't mean academically smart. I mean delusional with excellent grades.
I thought I was an uncrowned princess. Beautiful, hardworking, ambitious. I thought I could have anything I wanted in life, any man I wanted, as long as I approached the situation correctly.
I had a whole philosophy about it.
I didn't get into relationships because I thought no one deserved me.
That was my explanation.
The real reason? Apparently, I was waiting for a man to give me a tissue so I could start planning our wedding.
But we'll get to that.
I had dreams. I wanted to study abroad, pursue singing, pursue acting. I wanted to live a life that was bigger than the one I knew.
My father didn't believe I could survive abroad.
So we argued. I told him, "You never know your limits if you never try! Even if it doesn't work out, at least we'll have useful information. We'll know what my limits are, and we can work on expanding them!"
Listen to me. I was negotiating my own future like a startup founder.
I was ready to fail strategically.
I was ready to turn failure into data.
I was going to collect feedback from the universe!
And eventually, my father agreed. He said he would support me if it was good for me.
So I spent my entire summer preparing applications and paperwork.
I was applying for every opportunity that came my way. I was preparing for this whole new life.
Then I called my father about the final papers that needed his help.
And he told me he didn't actually want me to go.
Then he said something like, "Do you think all these prestigious universities are fighting over you?"
Sir.
SIR.
I was not asking them to fight over me. I was asking them to read my application!
I had not even been rejected by the universities yet. My father decided to reject me on their behalf.
He was doing the admissions committee's job for free.
And the worst part wasn't just losing the opportunity. It was realizing that someone whose belief I needed had apparently never believed in me the way I thought he did.
I eventually went to the university that was available to me, rather than the one I'd imagined.
And after a while, I heard the most beautiful news.
There were singing and acting activities at my university!
I thought, "Oh my God. Maybe my dreams aren't dead. Maybe they're just... studying locally."
I went to the activities. We were discussing meditation, and at some point I started crying.
I don't even know exactly why. Maybe I was stressed. Maybe I was overwhelmed. Maybe my inner child had finally requested to speak to management.
And then a man came over.
Do you know what this man did?
He gave me a tissue.
That's it.
A tissue.
And I fell in love.
(Pause. Look at the audience.)
I need you to understand: I had standards.
I was a princess. I had rejected the entire male population because no one deserved me.
But apparently my standards had one very specific exception.
Paper products.
This man didn't even have to say, "Are you okay?"
He just supplied the equipment.
And I thought, "He cares about me."
I was so moved by this gesture. Because at that point in my life, I was so thirsty for tenderness that a man could have handed me a napkin and I'd have started imagining our children's personalities.
I didn't fall in love with him.
I fell in love with the possibility of being loved.
But my brain wasn't interested in that distinction.
My brain was a romantic screenwriter with no budget and absolutely no supervision.
He looked at me for three seconds.
My brain: "He can't take his eyes off you."
He gave me a tissue.
My brain: "He has seen your vulnerability and accepted you."
He said nothing.
My brain: "He's hiding his feelings."
At this point, I wasn't interpreting his behavior. I was writing fan fiction about a man who hadn't agreed to be in the story.
And I was the author, the director, the lead actress, the producer, and the only person who had read the script.
The man was just trying to get through his day.
Meanwhile, I was developing a franchise.
Get menna’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
And the worst part is, I'm an intelligent person!
That's what makes this story so offensive.
I can analyze situations. I can think critically. I can see different perspectives.
But when it came to this man, my intelligence became his defense attorney.
Every sign said, "Please stop."
And my brain said, "Objection! He might be shy."
No response? He's shy.
Distance? He's shy.
Not showing interest? Extremely shy.
At some point, I had to consider that this man wasn't shy. Maybe he was just... not interested.
But no! I had already invested in the theory.
And I couldn't abandon it. I had evidence!
Evidence consisting of one tissue and three seconds of eye contact.
If I had presented that case in court, the judge would've asked me to leave the building.
And I told my family I liked him.
Everybody knew.
Because I believed that if I told everyone everything, I wasn't doing anything wrong.
Isn't that an interesting philosophy?
Apparently, I thought honesty was a legal defense.
"Your Honour, yes, I may be making a terrible decision, but I have been very transparent about it."
And I did keep reaching out, even when I wasn't getting the response I wanted.
I was acting like, "Please love me."
But in my head, I was acting like, "He cannot resist me."
The difference between those two women was astonishing.
One was begging for affection.
The other was convinced she was the most irresistible woman in the room.
And they were both me!
I was simultaneously the victim, the detective, and the criminal mastermind behind my own humiliation.
Eventually, I started realizing that this wasn't a secret love story.
It was a one-sided love story.
And I had done so much emotional work for a relationship that didn't even exist.
I experienced a breakup without having had a relationship.
Think about that.
I went through all the pain of losing someone who had never actually been mine.
I was grieving the memories, the conversations, the future, the love...
(Pause.)
The man gave me a tissue.
I gave him a whole relationship.
That's not a fair exchange rate.
And you know what? I still think he could have been clearer.
Because, yes, I misunderstood his silence. I interpreted it the way I wanted to, rather than the way it was.
But I would also like to point out that I was clearly not in a position to make reliable interpretations.
I was a biased witness.
I had a conflict of interest.
I wanted the verdict to be "He loves me" so badly that I was willing to manufacture the evidence myself.
And that's what I've learned about people.
We don't always see life as it is. We see it through what we desperately want it to be.
Sometimes we're not reading the signs.
We're editing them.
And sometimes the universe sends you a man with a tissue, and you turn it into a prophecy.
(Pause. Softer, with a smile.)
I used to think I was an uncrowned princess who could have anything she wanted if she approached it correctly.
Now I know that sometimes you can approach something correctly, and it still won't be yours.
And sometimes you can approach something incorrectly...
(Look at the audience.)
...and spend six months emotionally recovering from a man who was just being polite.
I wish I could tell you that I learned my lesson immediately.
But I'm still the same woman who believes in big dreams, great love, singing, acting, and the possibility that life can surprise me.
I've just learned to ask a few more questions before I start planning the wedding.
Especially if the man is holding a tissue.
Because if he gives me one now, I'll say, "Thank you."
And then I'll go home.
(Beat.)
Unless it's a really nice tissue.
I'm still a princess. I have standards.
