Why is it so hard for people to have a relationship and a social life?
My friend asked for an annoying favor the other day. She wanted to know if I would take out the one other lesbian she knows, because the woman is going through a bad breakup and has no semblance of a social life. Vulnerable, sad, lonely woman? Just my type.
I hate this predicament for two reasons. 1) It makes me feel like a “token lesbian.” 2) It validates my theory of relationship hibernation. My first cynical thought was that maybe if the woman had a social life, she’d still have a relationship. But I bit my tongue and accepted yet another burden that we single people are so often saddled with: having lives.
Why is it that for so many people, relationships and social lives cannot go hand in hand? Is it a lesbian thing, or do straight couples suffer from this too? I always try to rebuff the notion that two women together simply want to “nest,” like we’re birds spending our days scraping for sunflower seed. The theory, I guess, is that most women have an inclination to be pregnant homemakers. Combine two and you’re doomed to a life of Saturday-night television and crock-pot dinners. Unfortunately, the lesbian population hasn’t done much to invalidate this theory.
See, I can go on this rant because I’m not a nester. In fact, most of the time I’m flying the coop. The complaint from most of my girlfriends has been that I spend too much time with my friends. The reason I do that, darling, is because they’ll be there long after you’re gone. And I also think it’s completely unhealthy to spend all of your time with the same person, even if he or she is hot and good in bed. Many people, it seems, don’t think this way. Perfect example: that freaky couple on Bravo’s The Real Housewives of New York City. (Don’t pretend you didn’t watch it.) The woman brings her husband to “girls’ night” and sees nothing wrong with it. Can you say codependent? And you wonder how their kid ended up in Manhattan with a name like François.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m all for marathon sex sessions and the occasional disappearing act during a new relationship. What I can’t stand is the solemn reemergence by people who lost your phone number somewhere in their girlfriend’s ass and now expect you to become their therapist once the door has hit said ass on its way out. Dionne Warwick is a fool. That is not what friends are for.
I learned very early in my relationship career (because this is work) that balance is one of the most important elements of a partnership. My scales tipped way out of whack at a young age. For one woman, I gave up a good job, moved from state to state like a puppy on a leash, and left most of my friends in the dust. When I finally re-emerged, broken-hearted, I was lucky to have one friend willing to offer me her couch. The rest I earned back slowly, with my tail between my legs and many an exhausting apology. (Fortunately Ecstasy was all the rage then, so I was able to attribute a lot of my behavior to brain-cell loss.)
But I vowed never to make that mistake again. I think I’ve made pretty good on that promise. I like a distinct breakdown of time with partner, time with friends, time with friends and partner. If your girlfriend is jealous of your friends, she either doesn’t have enough of her own or she clearly hasn’t realized that you are embarrassed to bring her out in public. Only time will tell.
In the meantime, I’ll be a good pal and take this newly single woman out on the town. And she’ll have that typical look of uneasiness as we approach a place like ZuZu. “Is this what kids are wearing these days?” she’ll wonder, forgetting the last time she actually got “dressed up.” I’ll recommend martinis to kick off the evening, showing her how you put the glass to your lips and sip. Go on. It’s not going to kill you. “What kind of music is this?” she’ll ask as we make our way onto the packed floor. “Are these people gay or straight? My God. I’m going to die alone!”
We’ll dance up a sweat and have what most would consider a great night, and she’ll thank me as she gets into her Subaru to head back to the suburbs. But along the way, the road will turn dark and lonely. She’ll wake the next morning with a killer hangover and think “I’m too old to be out dancing and enjoying life.” And she’ll reach for the phone to call the ex and return to that old, comfortable compromise.
And I’ll never hear from her again. Until the next breakup.
Jeannie Greeley is a single freelance writer on loan as a wing woman. You can reach her at jeannieg@comcast.net.
