“Tell me about yourself. What sort of woman are you?”
That sort of question is why I shy away from dating men who work in psychiatric professions.
In this case, a first date situation, the question “What sort of woman are you?” could very well lead to a slap across the face. That’s what an incensed woman in a ‘50s movie would do. Sophia Loren would do that. Doris Day might slap a man who asks an innuendo soaked question.
But.
I’m not Sophia Loren or Doris Day.
So on this first date I sat there dumbfounded.
What sort of woman am I?
Contextually, on that date with that man, I was the sort of woman who doesn’t like to be asked that sort of question on a first date. I was the sort of woman who had to fight an instinctual sarcastic roll of eyes when that question was posed. I was the sort of woman who inwardly guffawed at the guy’s affectation.
I don’t mind nuts and bolts interview-esque questions on a first date. In fact I’m in favor of them and appreciate when a man starts that line of questioning. Clear the air about important issues right up front. Typically those questions can be answered yes or no and without much thought. Those are the type of first dates I find most successful. Successful in the sense that you leave the date knowing whether or not there’s enough common ground for a second date.
This, this intrusion into my psyche was way over first date boundaries, especially since he was a psychologist and especially since there was nothing segueing into that question. It was just out of the clear blue, “What sort of woman are you?”
Crazy weather we’re having. The macadamia cookies are great here. What sort of woman are you?
And yes, this speaks more to my insecurities than to his crossing of decorum boundaries. But still, c’mon, how would you respond to the question, posed by a relative stranger, “What sort of woman/man are you?”
I said, “That depends. It’s complicated by perception. The sort of woman I think I am is probably significantly different than the sort of women other people perceive me to be. And every situation is different. Right now I’m the sort of woman who feels like she’s being used in a dating psychology hidden camera research study.”
I could tell by his blinking silence he was not amused. The date ended a few minutes later.
The “What sort of woman are you?” question immediately made it to the top of the funny date stories my friends compile about me. It’s a new catch phrase. “What sort of woman are you?” with varying inflections on each of the words is causing a lot of laughs. It is funny. You can emphasize any of the words in that sentence and have completely different innuendo. It works comically in almost any situation. I can tell we’re going to dine on that one for months.
But on a more serious note I’m not actually sure what sort of woman I am.
I keep going back to the gender issue. He didn’t ask me what sort of person I am. He asked me specifically what sort of woman I am.
If he asked me what sort of person I am I could list off personality traits. I know what sort of person I am. I have a high level of confidence in the sort of person I am. And how other people perceive me, as a person.
But the gender component is where it all falls apart for me.
Here’s where psychologists start probing into my relationship with my father and mother and how that defines my perception of my womanhood, my gender identity.
I don’t need therapy to know what’s at the root of this. My parents never put gender limitations on me. There was never intonation along the lines of “But you’re a girl, girls don’t do that.” I wasn’t a girly girl but I wasn’t a tom-boy, either. I loved all things Barbie and I loved designing complicated race tracks for Hot Wheels cars.
