Making Phil Happy

"It's not that I don't agree that men and women are equals," Phil had said, "It's just that since society has naturally created an order, a balance between the sexes, why would we upset the apple cart?"

Rochelle wanted to blow her top. It was bad enough that she had to have dinner with this asshole, this sexist prick, but now she had to listen to him pontificate on the importance of old-fashioned gender roles? On any other day she would have kicked him to the curb, maybe even popping him in the nose on his way out, but not that night. That night, the night she had chosen to host Phil, what she really needed was to make him happy.

That way, she was sure, she would be happy.

And in that moment, she was anything but.

"Phil," she said, interrupting the young man, hoping to distract him from his speech with a **** smile and a peace offering, "Would you like a beer? I have some in the fridge."

"You see?" Phil said to Matis, indicating Rochelle with an outstretched arm, "A woman who is acting in her natural social function!" Phil turned to her. "Rochelle, I would love a beer," he said with a shit-eating grin, "That would make me very happy."

Suddenly Rochelle felt flush with endorphins. Her knees went weak momentarily as she was dizzy with a euphoric feeling. Closing her eyes, she let the feeling wash over her. She was making Phil happy. Very happy. It felt amazing.

After a moment, she regained her senses. Phil had begun his tirade again, but Rochelle cared not. She had already started making her way into the kitchen. She had a beer to fetch for her guest. Giving it to him would make him happy. Very happy.

"Tradition," Phil was saying as she walked back into the dining room, a cold beer in her hand, "It's traditional for women to act a certain way and for men to act in a different way. If we just remember that, then the whole world will be a better place."

Rochelle placed the beer in front of her guest while rolling her eyes at what he was saying. How could someone really believe that drivel? It wasn't just old-fashioned, it was repressive, offensive, and...

"Thank-you, Rochelle," Phil interrupted her thoughts, "You really know how to make your guest feel extremely happy."

At his words, Rochelle's knees buckled and she fell, catching herself on Phil's lap, her face inches away from his groin. She was so happy. So very happy. Extremely happy. She wasn't sure if she'd ever felt that happy before.

"Mom!" The sound of Matis' chair scraping against the hardwood pulled her back to the moment, "Are you okay?"

Rochelle climbed to her feet and steadied herself on the table.

"Sorry Matis," she said to her worried son, "I think I lost my footing for a second. I'm alright. Sit, eat."

Not wanting a repeat of her fall, Rochelle quickly returned to her own seat and followed her own advice. She took a bite of her dinner and reflected on the euphoria she had experienced. It was only natural, of course, for her to feel happy when her guest, Phil, felt happy. She knew this deep in her core, just as she knew that she had to have him over that night. There was no sense in thinking otherwise; some things are just facts, like gravity, or magnetism. She might not be able to explain them, but that didn't change the fact that they were real.

"What makes me really happy," Phil continued as Matis sat down, a worried look still on his face, "is when a woman really knows her place, when she knows deep down that there is a social order and that she needs to please a man to feel fulfilled."

Rochelle's ears pricked up at this. She knew it was wrong. It was wrong! Women shouldn't be subservient to men! They were equals! She certainly didn't need to please a man to feel anything.

"Come on, man," Matis said, "Stop talking like that! My mom's here! It's not cool."

"No, I'm serious," Phil continued, "Nothing makes me happier than seeing a woman come around to my way of thinking. She should think of my pleasure, of my needs, of my happiness before her own. That way she'll fall into the place that was always meant for her. If I'm happy, she'll be happy."

Rochelle should feel angrier. But something about the way he was talking, something about his argument... she just couldn't shake it. Would she be happier if he was happier? There were so many things about her life that made her unhappy. She was unhappy about the way her ex-husband talked about her. She was unhappy about the way Matis hadn't followed in her footsteps. She was unhappy about the uncertainty of whether Susan the bank teller had been flirting with her or if she had just been polite. She was so very unhappy about being a woman in a man's world, how men treated her, how she got spoken down to when ordering parts at the garage, how she had a hard time convincing her male clients that she knew what she was doing, how men were generally assholes to her!

What if...

No.

But maybe?

What if, just for a moment or two, she came around to Phil's way of thinking? What if she could see his side of things, just for a bit, thinking of his pleasure, thinking of his needs, of his happiness before her own? If she was thinking of someone else's happiness, maybe she would start to forget her own unhappiness. Maybe Phil's happiness could be a little contagious.

"Dude, I'm serious too," Matis looked angry, "If you don't stop talking that way, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Hold on, sweetie," Rochelle said, not wanting Phil to go, "I'm not offended just because he's got different ideas. Sometimes we need to listen to each other in order to learn."

"Mom, come on," Matis said emphatically, "Phil's being a pig. I don't want to sit here and listen to him..."

"Then why don't you excuse us," Rochelle said, not letting her son finish, "I can see that Phil's getting you upset. Let me talk to him. Why don't you get some money from my wallet and take the car. Go see a movie. Isn't there something you want to see?"

"But I..."

"Just go," she said in a commanding tone, "I will speak to Phil. He needs a woman's touch to help him understand."

Matis looked uncertain, but he obeyed, and soon enough Rochelle was alone with Phil, who was staring at her with hungry eyes.

Not that she minded.

"Now, what was it you were saying about a woman's touch?"