I sit mesmerized by my cup of coffee, slowly stirring in uncertainty. Then I feel his arms wrap around me, his warm breath on my neck, and I lean back and rest my head on his barrel chest. “It will all be okay babe,” he assures me. A visceral calm melts down my spine, and I exhale.
Slowly, from far away I hear a beeping sound that gradually gets louder and louder. Noooooo!
I reluctantly emerge from the dream, take in my empty bed, the Buddhist book tossed in frustration at the red wine bottle and a splattered crime scene across the room.
Female fantasy has always inhabited a rich dreamscape but in times of heightened anxiety proves even more enticing. Imaginary lovers never disagree, they always care, they’re always there, when you need satisfaction guaranteed. I have had an amazing imaginary lover in my life who sends flowers, writes thoughtful cards and always assures me I never look fat in any outfit (well sometimes his judgement is questionable.) He always turns me on, has my back and slips into my subconscious easier than Jung on Quaaludes.
The desire for love in the time of Corona is statistically off the charts. Tinder saw its highest number of swipes for a single day recorded at more than 3 billion on March 29. But with all the work from home and social isolation and lack of cultural, music, art, or live events let alone even ability to belly up to a bar and chat up a stranger, we are romantically stymied. The only use I have had for my stiletto heels was to puncture a can of tuna fish when I couldn’t find a can opener. My curling iron has gathered dust, the perfume scent I emanate is watermelon hand sanitizer, and the conversations around consent have to do with masks and outdoor dining. We are rife for misunderstandings. Adhering to safety precautions may be misinterpreted as lack of attraction or a group gathering a lack of respect.
In this new world we are redefining relationships. Six feet used to be where a man reached the sky and now it is the space in between you and your date. The question isn’t if you want to spend the night but a two-week quarantine. And with everyone on edge, there is even less tolerance. One guy gave up on a new romance because his date always brought to the park the worst flavors of White Claw. Another woman gave thumbs down to a man when she noticed on the video chat a metal sculpture where LOVE was spelled out in bullet holes.
At a certain age all the dating technology does not play in your favor. I recently was propositioned for a Zootie. Look, I am a romantic and proficient at many different positions from the Kama Sutra but not familiar with a Zootie. Does it have something to do with a virtual foot rub or maybe the Australian zoo live feed of the adorable Koalas? Apparently, it is a Zoom booty call. Puhlease, do I want to be bothered late night after copious amounts of Kava Kava, Gaba drops and enough Calm magnesium to sedate an elephant? (note the switch to homeopathic remedies after the Thich Nhat Hanh pinot noir incident.) For those us who find soft candlelight and an 800-thread count sheet to cover unfortunate body parts as a key to our come-hither attraction the thought of a video call with all its poor lighting and bad angles at any hour is horrifying.
But at the end of a pandemic day don’t we crave a deeper connection? As intimacy is a prerequisite for a successful relationship, are we willing in these times to be vulnerable? Are you open to the pain of rejection when you are already walking on broken glass? I think we are craving something meaningful in real life. A meeting of the minds and bodies which does not require perfection but does require authenticity and compassion. We want to be touched and seen and heard and held and valued and cherished and desired and loved, preferably in flattering natural light. Because when the future is not guaranteed, today is more precious than ever. So, my future IRL babe, if by chance flowers arrive on my doorstep, try not to be jealous, because imaginary lover, you are mine anytime.
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