Let's say a guy named Roger is attracted to a woman 
named Elaine. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts; 
they have a pretty good time. A few nights later he 
asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves. 
They continue to see each other regularly, and after 
a while neither one of them is seeing anybody else.

And then, one evening when they're driving home, a 
thought occurs to Elaine, and, without really thinking, 
she says it aloud: "Do you realize that, as of tonight, 
we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?"

And then there is silence in the car.

To Elaine, it seems like a very loud silence. She 
thinks to herself: Geez, I wonder if it bothers him 
that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined 
by our relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to 
push him into some kind of obligation that he doesn't 
want, or isn't sure of.

And Roger is thinking: Gosh. Six months.

And Elaine is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I 
want this kind of relationship, either. Sometimes I 
wish I had a little more space, so I'd have time to 
think about whether I really want us to keep going 
the way we are, moving steadily toward... I mean, 
where are we going? Are we just going to keep seeing 
each other at this level of intimacy? Are we heading t
oward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime 
together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? 
Do I really even know this person?

And Roger is thinking: So, that means it was... let's 
see... February when we started going out, which was 
right after I had the car at the dealer's, which 
means...let me check the odometer... Whoa! I am way 
overdue for an oil change here.

And Elaine is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his 
face. Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe 
he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, 
more commitment; maybe he has sensed, even before I 
sensed it, that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, 
I bet that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to 
say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid 
of being rejected.

And Roger is thinking: And I'm going to have them look 
at the transmission again. I don't care what those 
morons say, it's still not shifting right. And they 
better not try to blame it on the cold weather this 
time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees and this 
thing is shifting like a garbage truck, and I paid 
those incompetent thieves $600.

And Elaine is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame 
him. I'd be angry, too. I feel so guilty, putting him 
through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure.

And Roger is thinking: They'll probably say it's only 
a 90-day warranty... scum balls.

And Elaine is thinking: Maybe I'm just too idealistic, 
waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white 
horse, when I'm sitting right next to a perfectly 
good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I 
truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care 
about me. A person who is in pain because of my 
self-centered, schoolgirl romantic fantasy.

And Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? 
I'll give them a warranty. I'll take their warranty and 
stick it right up their...

"Roger," Elaine says aloud.

"What?" says Roger, startled.

"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says, 
her eyes beginning to brim with tears. "Maybe I should 
never have... Oh God, I feel so... (She breaks down, sobbing.)

"What?" says Roger.

"I'm such a fool," Elaine sobs. "I mean, I know there's 
no knight. I really know that. It's silly. There's no 
knight, and there's no horse."

"There's no horse?" says Roger.

"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Elaine says.

"No!" says Roger, glad to finally know the correct answer.

"It's just that...it's that I...I need some time," Elaine says.

There is a 15-second pause while Roger, thinking as 
fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. 
Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work. 
"Yes," he says.

Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand. "Oh, Roger, do 
you really feel that way?" she says.

"What way?" says Roger.

"That way about time," says Elaine.

"Oh," says Roger. "Yes."

Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply into his 
eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what 
she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. 
At last she speaks.

"Thank you, Roger," she says.

"Thank you," says Roger.

Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a 
conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn.

When Roger gets back to his place, he opens a bag of 
Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes 
deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two
Czechoslovakians he never heard of. A tiny voice in the 
far recesses of his mind tells him that something major 
was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty 
sure there is no way he would ever understand what, 
and so he figures it's better if he doesn't think about it.

The next day Elaine will call her closest friend, 
or perhaps two of them, and they will talk about 
this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking 
detail, they will analyze everything she said and 
everything he said, going over it time and time 
again, exploring every word, expression, and gesture 
for nuances of meaning, considering every possible 
ramification. They will continue to discuss this subject, 
off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching 
any definite conclusions, but never getting bored 
with it, either.

Meanwhile, Roger, while playing racquetball one day 
with a mutual friend of his and Elaine's, will pause 
just before serving, frown, and say, "Norm, did 
Elaine ever own a horse?"