After the last couple batshit crazy OW texts I’ve put through the Universal Bullshit Translator, I was thinking to myself — why? Why do Other Women (and to my knowledge, it’s just women) indulge in these whackadoodle taunts? Moreover, why do they write those insipid columns on HuffPo or YourTango mooning on about their affairs?
It’s one thing to be fucking another woman’s husband. It’s quite another to want to rub her nose in it. (Ewww.) Or broadcast to your victims and the world that it was All Part of God’s Plan. Or You’ve Really Grown As a Person Thanks to the Affair! Or Crushing Your Children’s Souls Was All Worth It Because I’m So Much Happier Now!
What the hell is going on here?
Short, easy answer — they’re narcissistic loons. But a more nuanced, skein-untangling way to look at it is — they really enjoy the pick me dance. Some people just love to compete. That’s a fine quality in business or sports, where the rules of engagement are laid out. And where you know you’re competing. It’s not like you’re standing on a field and people are mysteriously lobbing footballs at your head — you’re a participant in the game.
What’s special (in the short bus sense) about OW, is that a) they want to compete for a partner; and b) they only want to do so on a very unlevel playing field. Somebody has to be chumped, so they can “win.”
What makes the Broadcast My Happiness OW so freaky, however, is not only do they enjoy the competition — they gloat. They’re going to spike the football, do the silly dance, and shout “Touchdown! I WIN!”
(Or in OW-ish “The heart wants what the heart wants. It’s too bad you’re so ugly, bitter, and sexless and can’t keep your man. But it’s all for the best!”)
Here’s my theory on this — most OW want a lopsided competition (or they wouldn’t be OW). They attribute great meaning to the crumbs they get (he loves me better! that’s why he won’t introduce me to anyone! I’m THAT special!) — but only the deeply crazy gloat about it.
They need the special validation that comes from being PICKED. Not chosen. Chosen means commitment. If you’re married, you were chosen to be another’s partner for life. Supposedly, the great dating competition was definitively ended. But PICKED means you won out over another contender. You danced your little tap shoes off, and you were the last one standing.
The more disordered you are, the harder you dance. It’s Riverdance for Kibbles. This is true for chumps too. No healthy person competes for another’s love.
Because no person, who truly loves you, would make you compete for their love. Love is given. Love’s words align with love’s actions. Love is not Caesar in the colosseum giving the thumbs up or the thumbs down if you live or die. Love doesn’t throw you to the lions. Love keeps you safe.
The only people who want to compete for “love” are people who value “kibbles” (otherwise known as narcissistic supply). To them, it’s all a zero sum solution. More kibbles for me, none for you. OW, like other narcissists, prefer kibbles to love. It’s easy. It’s flattery, admiration without accomplishment, esteem without character, a quick rush.
And who cares who gets hurt, so long as they WIN? Just more proof that they’re superior and you’re inferior!
Step away from the game, chumps. There’s no love here.
Rerun, got an early appointment today. If you want a Friday challenge, you can describe your Pick Me dance. Polka, interpretative, slow shuffle? TGIF!