Getting The Hand

by Jamie

The beginning of a new romance is more often than not considered the best time period in a relationship. (At least according to me and I’m quite the reliable source.) It’s the time of learning about one another (for 17 hours a day, non-stop): favorite colors, cats or dogs, and what’s his or her’s life motto. It’s the time of firsts: kiss, date, and seeing each other naked.

It’s the time when I’m usually my most charming to the opposite sex. The time period is usually within the first three months, give or take. He thinks: She’s cute. She’s funny (and not in a Will Ferrell kind of way, either). She’s a dork. She laughs at what he thinks are rather lame jokes. He wonders, “Why is this clever, amazing, and attractive girl still single? And why does she like me?”

Then he discovers.

Over the course of learning about one another, (which may include: You introducing him to your cats. They approved. He introducing his guitar to you. You approved.) a duel begins. A duel that will either make or break the relationship.

It’s the evermore duel called Battle of the Sexes. (An arduous battle. An irksome battle. A fill-in-the-blank-with-other-great-synonymous-words battle.)

The conclusion of the duel will answer one question: Who holds The Hand?

According to George Costanza, The Hand is about having the power in a relationship between two people (in this case: men and women). It means to have the upper hand. Usually, one person will have more hand than the other. Unfortunately, (or maybe fortunately) George has never had The Hand.

I claim that the number one reason why the beginning of a relationship is often the best time is because (usually) the two people are both playing on an equal field. It’s a clean slate for both. It’s the time when both parties are completely and mutually smitten with one another.

There isn’t a power struggle.

But then comes the duel moment where it’s no longer fun being an equal. The Hand, for some reason, is up for grabs. And whoever gets it, probably won’t be giving it up. (Not now, not later. Never.) After all, why would they?

Simple–it’s about control.

Ask yourself: In a car, do you prefer being the driver or the passenger? When a person has control over a situation, especially in relationships, he or she has the power to steer the wheel into whatever direction they please. They’re usually afraid of relationships, and aren’t willing to open themselves up to the possibility of crashing the car getting their heart broken.

How is it decided who takes reign of The Hand, anyway? A quote from a stupid rom-com (should stupid even precede rom-com?) movie answered it best: “…the power in all relationships lies with whoever cares less.”

He discovers after the duel, that my whining is actually not cute, but a case of neediness. He discovers that I’m actually not a dork, but rather a recluse nerd. (There is a difference.) He discovers that my obnoxiously loud laugh is quite a nuisance. He thinks, “Now I know why she has been single all this time.”

Like George, I never have The Hand in a relationship. I am the one who proudly kisses when he grudgingly offers his cheek. I’ve always cared more than him. I am the passenger. While he’s usually in control. The one who is afraid to open up. He is the driver.

I vowed that my next victim suitor, I wouldn’t care. I was successful. I was driving the car, recklessly. He adored me. For once, I was giving the cheek to him. (Ladies, it’s true: men find you more appealing when you don’t give a shit.)

However, I realized having the power doesn’t always mean you’re the happiest, either. It’s about finding someone where there is a mutual addiction in the relationship, just like those first three months.

But if the duel is inevitable, well, I’d rather continue being the vulnerable passenger.