By the time my girlfriend said she wouldn’t call me at night anymore, my proposed Xbox purchase had acquired a romantic motive. Apparently, I wanted a console so I could be in a relationship with the female lead in GTA 6. I had thought I was talking about a video game.
I’m 26, she’s 28, and this began when I told her I was thinking of buying a cheap Xbox to play it. I have the money. I’m not struggling financially. It seemed like the sort of purchase you could explain in one sentence, which was optimistic of me.
She got angry. When I asked why, she said that, according to “all the girls,” men were getting the game because they wanted a virtual relationship with its main female character. This was news to me, both about my intentions and about the apparent consensus on them.
I laughed and told her that wasn’t why I wanted it. I’ve played every GTA game since San Andreas. I enjoy the games and their stories. From my side, this was a familiar interest and a new reason to buy the hardware, rather than an attempt to meet someone.
She went quiet for a bit. I asked whether she was enjoying her lunch. She said no: I had made her lose her appetite. A conversation about gaming had now managed to interfere with a meal I wasn’t even eating.
Then came the part about our evening calls. She said she wouldn’t call at night anymore, so I could go and have a relationship with the character. I chuckled again. That probably wasn’t the response she wanted, but I was having trouble responding seriously to an accusation that felt so far removed from what I’d meant.
I could hear that she was upset. What I couldn’t understand was why the purchase counted as evidence against my explanation, before I’d even bought anything.
She also put a price on the alleged romance: $300 for an Xbox, just to be with this character. The money was available; the motive was the disputed part.
She had to get back to work. Before the call ended, I told her I loved her. She hung up.
