During our semi-recent trip to Southeast Asia, my husband and I were chatting with some members of our tour group when the topic of travelling with best friends came up. One lovely lady, Helene, gestured to the man beside her. Well, she said, Nick is my best friend. My husband and I exchanged glances, both of us thinking at the same time that we had had the wrong idea all along. Oh, my husband said finally. I thought you two were MARRIED. Helene looked at us strangely. We ARE married, she said. I married my best friend.
I thought that was very sweet, and I am always happy when other people are happy, but wow, I cannot relate at all. Do not get me wrong: I love my husband, we are very compatible, and I enjoy his company immensely. I think we have a beautiful, fun, fulfilling life together, but in no world do I consider him to be my best friend. In my mind, “husband” and “best friend” are two completely separate concepts. If you marry your best friend, then who do you talk about your spouse with? The snake is eating its tail!
For a few months now, I have been intermittently thinking about a situation my friend Swistle (HI SWISTLE) found herself in: she had planned a coffee date with a former colleague, and at the last minute that colleague texted to say that her husband was going to come along. I’ll just let you digest that for a moment. A former colleague casually mentioned that her husband, heretofore unknown to Swistle, was going to join the coffee date scheduled between the two women. Frankly, I would have fallen over like a tree hand-chopped by an old-timey lumberjack with the shock, even if it was one of my friends whose husbands I DO know and am friendly with. Even if said husband was said friend’s best friend, as with Nick and Helene, I would STILL be distressed at the idea. What world do we live in where a coffee date gets crashed by a husband?
Under no circumstances could I fathom just randomly bringing my own husband along to a coffee date with a girlfriend. Still less could I fathom my husband suggesting that he join us. This behaviour is baffling, to say the least. But then! It happened AGAIN. Swistle made another coffee date with this woman and, AGAIN, at the last minute the friend informed her that her husband was going to join them. Twice makes a pattern, in my mind. Once? It’s weird. Twice? Something strange and unsettling is afoot.
My immediate thought was that this man was one of those atrocious, overbearing bores who cannot bear that their wives have a social life outside of their own twosome. I was a bit nervous that perhaps that woman was being, if not abused, then certainly domineered. Then I thought that maybe he was one of those overly-social joes who insist on being the centre of attention and the life of the party, to the detriment of all his relationships. We all know the type; the fellow who thinks everyone benefits from knowing him, and who wants to be involved in everything, all the while irritating every person in his sphere.
Now, one might reasonably say but what about the woman in this scenario? Does she not have any agency and responsibility here? And indeed. I have a tendency, much to my husband and sons’ mild exasperation, to place the blame squarely in the testosterone column in most scenarios, like Miss Cornelia. Isn’t that just like a man? But I am an open-minded person, and so I do feel that some of the onus here is on the woman. Of course, if we are in the first situation, then it is possible she is an exhausted, beaten-down woman who is used to her borderline emotionally-abusive husband not allowing her to exist outside of his realm, and therefore she is deserving of great sympathy. But if it’s the second situation, she might still be exhausted and beaten-down, but in the way of the girlfriend of the guy who is wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a lampshade on his head at every party. Perhaps she’s powerless in the face of his extreme social extroversion, but my own sympathy would be a little stretched. In either case, I want her to rise up, rise up. There is also the scenario in which the couple are best friends, and the woman feels that lives are enriched by knowing her dreamboat husband, and in this case, I have no sympathy whatsoever.
But then a new situation arose in my mind, and in the minds of many of Swistle’s readers, and that is that they are swingers and are courting her. Key parties ahoy! This certainly makes things more interesting, albeit unsettling. I don’t have any swingers in my life – that I know of. Given my history of being completely clueless when someone has been romantically or sexually interested in me until things become SO CLEAR that there is no room for misinterpretation, it’s perfectly possible that I could be courted for swinging without having any idea. I don’t think that’s happening to me, but who can say, really. In any case, I do find the whole concept of swinging to be pretty wild. We all deserve to be happy, and I don’t want to yuck anyone’s yum, but also? I find it kind of distasteful in a fascinating way. I was talking with my son about polyamory and open marriages, and as he succinctly put it: One person is super happy with the whole thing, and the other person has dead eyes. I think that sums it up quite admirably.
Really. Who has the energy? I personally can only manage one dog at a time, let alone anything else. How would anyone get anything done? A long while ago I heard an interview of a woman who had written a book about her open marriage, and to be honest, it all sounded pretty grim and depressing, not to mention logistically complicated.
The truth is I think about this woman all the time. When the interviewer asked her for any product recommendations, this woman touted the benefits of a particular waterproof dog blanket designed to protect upholstery, which she used for her frequent, messy, and fluid-filled sexual encounters. I immediately ordered that exact dog blanket myself, not for my own frequent, messy, or fluid-filled sexual encounters, but for my monogamous dog relationship. It protects the back seat from a certain giant, grubby dog and his frequently messy and, on rainy days, fluid-filled paws. At least twice a day, when we are getting in the car to head to the walking path, the open marriage lady enters my consciousness, and I feel gratitude for her and her desire for clean upholstery.
Weekly Reading
I read three extremely different books this week!
Culpability. A family travelling in a minivan with self-driving capabilities hits and kills an elderly couple in a small car. Whose fault was it? Was it the driver? Or was it the fault of the self-driving vehicle? This was a propulsive read and an interesting story, but it fell really flat for me due to the overblown and on-the-nose writing style, as well as the extensive telling, rather than showing. I found the ending flat and all of the characters to be deeply unlikeable. There are a lot of interesting threads in here, with the basic idea that AI is ruining our world, but I found the execution to be deeply lacking.
Cherry Baby. The flap copy for this book did not at all prepare me for the very lovely story of a marriage torn apart by success, and then brought back together. In fact, the flap copy is quite misleading. Nonetheless! I was so invested in these characters and their story. As well as being a love story in all its iterations, it’s also a statement on going through life in a large body, particularly in this time of GLP-1s. I loved all the characters, I loved the sister chat threads, and I loved the different romances. What an enjoyable read! There is a giant dog named Stevie Nicks, and I am here for it.
Wide Sargasso Sea. When it comes to Jane Eyre, I have always been Team Attic Wife. I mean, who WOULDN’T descend into madness after being taken from the West Indies and made to live alone in an attic in rural England? So I have long wanted to read this book, which is a prequel of sorts, and explains the life of “Bertha,” the wife in the attic – and we discover her name is not Bertha at all. It’s Antoinette, and Rochester, that evil buffoon, randomly changes it. Isn’t that just like a man, to quote Miss Cordelia once more. Anyway, I’m glad I finally read this but be warned: it’s a very complicated and difficult novel to read, with changing points of view and a lot of unspoken nuance. I had to do some research regarding the post-emancipation era in the West Indies, and its colonial history, of which I didn’t know much.
It’s been a fun week, with birthdays and cake and time in the garden. I have another fun week ahead – more birthday celebrations and more cake will be involved! I hope you all have a lovely week. xo
