Rating: ★★★★☆ Tags: Mystery Detective, General, Fiction

parties, and make out with each other while we leer. And
then we’d say, 
Yeah, he’s a Cool Guy
.
But it never happened. Instead, women across the
nation colluded in our degradation! Pretty soon Cool Girl
became the standard girl. Men believed she existed – she
wasn’t just a dreamgirl one in a million. Every girl was
supposed to this girl, and if you weren’t, then there was
something wrong with 
you
.
But it’s tempting to be Cool Girl. For someone like me,
who likes to win, it’s tempting to want to be the girl every
guy wants. When I met Nick, I knew immediately that was
what he wanted, and for him, I guess I was willing to try. I will
accept my portion of blame. The thing is, I was 
crazy
about
him at first. I found him perversely exotic, a good ole
Missouri boy. He was so damn nice to be around. He
teased things out in me that I didn’t know existed: a
lightness, a humor, an ease. It was as if he hollowed me out
and filled me with feathers. He helped me be Cool Girl – I
couldn’t have been Cool Girl with anyone else. I wouldn’t
have wanted to. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy some of it: I ate a
MoonPie, I walked barefoot, I stopped worrying. I watched
dumb movies and ate chemically laced foods. I didn’t think
past the first step of anything, that was the key. I drank a
Coke and didn’t worry about how to recycle the can or
about the acid puddling in my belly, acid so powerful it
could strip clean a penny. We went to a dumb movie and I
didn’t worry about the offensive sexism or the lack of

---

minorities in meaningful roles. I didn’t even worry whether
the movie made sense. I didn’t worry about anything that
came next. Nothing had consequence, I was living in the
moment, and I could feel myself getting shallower and
dumber. But also happy.
Until Nick, I’d never really felt like a person, because I
was always a product. Amazing Amy has to be brilliant,
creative, kind, thoughtful, witty, and happy. 
We just want
you to be happy
. Rand and Marybeth said that all the time,
but they never explained how. So many lessons and
opportunities and advantages, and they never taught me
how to be happy. I remember always being baffled by other
children. I would be at a birthday party and watch the other
kids giggling and making faces, and I would try to do that,
too, but I wouldn’t understand 
why
. I would sit there with the
tight elastic thread of the birthday hat parting the pudge of
my underchin, with the grainy frosting of the cake bluing my
teeth, and I would try to figure out why it was fun.
With Nick, I understood finally. Because he was so
much fun. It was like dating a sea otter. He was the first
naturally happy person I met who was my equal. He was
brilliant and gorgeous and funny and charming and
charmed. People liked him. Women loved him. I thought we
would be the most perfect union: the happiest couple
around. Not that love is a competition. But I don’t
understand the point of being together if you’re not the
happiest.
I was probably happier for those few years –
pretending to be someone else – than I ever have been
before or after. I can’t decide what that means.
But then it had to stop, because it wasn’t real, it wasn’t

---

me. It wasn’t 
me
, Nick! I thought you knew. I thought it was a
bit of a game. I thought we had a wink-wink, 
don’t ask, don’t
tell
thing going. I tried so hard to be easy. But it was
unsustainable. It turned out he couldn’t sustain his side
either: the witty banter, the clever games, the romance, and
the wooing. It all started collapsing on itself. I hated Nick for
being surprised when I became me. I hated him for not
knowing it had to end, for truly believing he had married this
creature, this figment of the imagination of a million
masturbatory men, semen-fingered and self-satisfied. He
truly seemed astonished when I asked him to 
listen
to me.
He couldn’t believe I didn’t love wax-stripping my pussy raw
and blowing him on request. That I 
did
mind when he didn’t
show up for drinks with my friends. That ludicrous diary
entry? 
I don’t need pathetic dancing-monkey scenarios to
repeat to my friends, I am content with letting him be
himself
. That was pure, dumb Cool Girl bullshit. What a
cunt. Again, I don’t get it: If you let a man cancel plans or
decline to do things for you, you 
lose
. You don’t get what
you want. It’s pretty clear. Sure, he may be happy, he may
say you’re 
the coolest girl ever
, but he’s saying it because
he got his way
. He’s calling you a Cool Girl to fool you!
That’s what men do: They try to make it sound like you are
the cool girl so you will bow to their wishes. Like a car
salesman saying, 
How much do you want to pay for this
beauty?
when you didn’t agree to buy it yet. That awful
phrase men use: ‘I mean, I know 
you
wouldn’t mind if I …’
Yes, I do mind
. Just say it. Don’t lose, you dumb little twat.
So it had to stop. Committing to Nick, feeling safe with
Nick, being happy with Nick, made me realize that there

---

was a Real Amy in there, and she was so much better,
more interesting and complicated and challenging, than
Cool Amy. Nick wanted Cool Amy anyway. Can you
imagine, finally showing your true self to your spouse, your
soul mate, and having him 
not like you
? So that’s how the
hating first began. I’ve thought about this a lot, and that’s
where it started, I think.

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