|
Recently a girlfriend of
mine wondered if we could move my birthday celebration back a week.
Married people, I
harrumphed to myself, quietly fuming as she explained desperately
needing to get out for dinner with her husband that exact night.
In truth, my girlfriend
was entirely justified. The night in question happened to be her
anniversary and she and her husband hadn't stepped out together since
their baby was born the better part of a year before. And, magically,
they had found someone to babysit.
But hey, I am single.
And because of that, I am willing to concede, I tend to think of myself
first. Fortunately for my interpersonal relationships, though it may
take awhile, I am most often then able to think of others. And when I
got over myself that day, I got to thinking that the relationship
between married people and their single friends is one of the most
delicate around. It's very "us" and "them."
They mostly live in the
suburbs; we tend to live downtown. They go to bed before 10 p.m.; lots
of us still like to catch last call, or at least Conan. Their lives are
about each other, and their little ones. Our lives are about -- well,
you get the picture.
Married people have a
hard time with their single friends. Single people have a hard time with
their married friends. They used to be us. They know we do too little
housework and spend too much on silly things. They possess a superior
position, knowing as they do, that deep in our hearts, we would like to
find someone to settle down with, just like they have. We resent this
real or perceived sense of superiority, and argue amongst ourselves
about all its drawbacks, half-coveting it all the while.
It creates a chronic
imbalance in our relationships, one which requires fancy footwork and
lots of empathy to negotiate. I seem to have managed it with some
married people, despite my tendencies toward self-absorption, and theirs
to become insular once tying the knot. That's why I've compiled this
little list on dos and don'ts for married people. To make life easier.
For all of us.
- DO: Bend a little,
just a little: I am not suggesting you meet us on our turf, on our
terms, every second time, or every third or even every fifth time. We
like your kids. They are funny to us. But maybe, just maybe, every
eighth time, instead of having the third conversation topic in a row
fall into the netherworld because toddler A needs attention, you could
meet us out in public. Maybe.
- Don't: Complain about
money: You live in a very nice house. Late-model cars sit in the
driveway and your kids wear baby Gap. You send your vacation pictures
via e-mail every year, so let's just all agree if you have money
problems, they are not of the "I bought too many sparkly summer tops and
issues of Star Magazine and now fear I might be forced to eat cat food
to survive when I am old and dying alone" variety. We, while wearing one
of our snazzy new tops and toting back issues of Star, will try to do
the same.
- Don't: Like us only
when we are coupled. My married friends' interest in my life rises
sharply when there is a man in the picture. This offends me, as do
sudden invites for couples-only dinner parties I don't normally hear
about. I notice your sudden interest in my love life and it hurts my
feelings. Makes me think you'd like me better if I had a husband. Makes
me wonder why I need a husband for you to like me better. Makes me
wonder why you don't seem as excited about me the way I am. Makes me
harrumph "married people!" to myself.
- Don't: Take our offers
to babysit seriously. I hate seeing my sleep-deprived friends lurk
dangerously close to depression at the challenges of new motherhood. I
don't want her and her husband to later divorce because their
relationship is suffering from severe neglect and
take-each-other-for-granted-ness. I will pop by when you need a break,
watching baby and whoever else you need, just so you can have an hour to
yourself, or you and your husband can grab a childless dinner together.
But I am not a 13-year-old neighbourhood girl, and I don't need a
relaxing night in the suburbs. My volunteer work is for charities.
- Don't: Suggest we are
lazy. Well, sure, we are lazy, but not that lazy. Did you guys get up at
the crack of dawn before you had kids? My married friends have a way of
apologizing whenever they phone in the morning that drives me nuts.
Saturdays are the worst. "Did you just wake up?" they'll say with a
knowing voice, which, at 11 a.m., rankles. "Were you out late?" they
inquire innocently.
- Don't: Assume we will
be attracted to the only other opposite-sex single person at a
gathering. After 30, there seems to suddenly be only one single person
of each sex in any given social circle. The married people will expect
you to hook up. If you don't like each other? The married people will
wonder why. This will make the two single people uncomfortable around
each other, because each will suspect the other is actually interested
and just waiting to snatch the right moment and do something about it.
Thus my constant search for new social circles.
- Don't: Assume we will
like and want to hang out with and become bosom buddies of all other
single people: Sure Susie is single, and about my age. But she enjoys
spending her time at the paint-it-yourself pottery place on the weekend
and just bought a semi in Barrhaven. We have about as much chance of
hitting it off as do the two single people in any given social circle do
of hooking up.
The bottom line is it
takes all kinds of people to make the world go round, and all kinds of
friendships to get through it every day. I wouldn't trade my married
friends for the world. Hopefully, they wouldn't trade me either.
|
