A Nugget of Truth

I went out to drinks last night with my friend, Grace, and her friend Alicia. Alicia isn't her real name, of course. I wonder whose identity I am protecting sometimes. This woman should really be feted by psychologists, family therapists, and the masses alike.

Alicia and I have a lot in common. We're both in PR, love literature, are perfection-obsessed about certain things, and apparently have a taste for tart, exotic martinis that have pretentious names and cost way too much. The most important thing, however, was that I could really relate to her. Even with her as a wife and mother of a toddler.

I normally can't relate to moms. I cannot for the life of me understand why someone would voluntarily give up their time, energy, finances, and vanity to have a child. Worse - children - plural. All the moms that I see are tired, have bedraggled hair, and are constantly embarrassed by their screaming brats. All this, to answer some mysterious calling within them to continue their bloodline, to have a mini carbon copy of themselves. I realize I'm being judgmental. I have friends of mine whom I know would make the best parents. Who would give their child everything, and be happy doing so. I'm just not one of those people. Yet. Or ever. I fucking hate Disney and Pixar. Primary colors make me want to vomit. My worst nightmare is going to the mall during holiday season, with rug rats whining to ride on the choo-choo. I think the director of programming for Nickalodean should be shot. I would die if the bulk of my day consisted of repetitive baby talk, peppered with poo poo and pee pee phrases. I think of bright toys carelessly strewn on the floor, Chicken McNuggets, and crayon scribbles on the wall. This thought gives me an actual rash.

I haven't always related to wives either. Until two of my best friends got married in recent years, I was convinced that marriage spelled r-a-w-d-e-a-l, especially for women. I'd go to parties and watch as wives nervously twisted their wedding bands, lips parted in frozen smiles, eyes slanted with suspicion. At me. The single girl. It was painful to watch. "I'm not your enemy," I wanted to say. "It's your husband. You don't trust him. He's the one you need to worry about." Years later, I would fall in love and get engaged. I would come to understand how nonsensical it was - the thought that you needed to stay single to retain your freedom. I realized that when you meet someone who complements you this fully, running free with him feels more liberating than any single-girl hijink that you can think up. But I didn't always feel this way. Let these stupid girls get married, I thought. I'm not getting trapped. Not me.

Alicia, though, was a kindred spirit. She was talkative, salty, inquisitive, and pointed. Kind of like me, on a good day. When I'm feeling alert, and magnanimous toward humanity. She was smart. And aware. She was....one of us. When I found out that she had dated her husband for 10 years, and had been married for 7, the curiosity was too much to bear.

"What do you really think about marriage. I mean, really. Don't sugarcoat anything."

"Marriage is a disappointment."

I was momentarily shocked into silence. What the fuck? And then - an epiphany. I started laughing. This was awesome. This was the best thing anyone could have told me about marriage.

"Marriage is one big, fat, disappointment," she continued, evenly. "How could it not be? You think your life is going to be better, and it isn't. It just gets harder. You love him, and he loves you. But he's going to disappoint the shit out of you."

And this was exactly what I needed to hear. Forget "he's your soul mate," and "you were meant to be together." The truth is, I was still stubbornly clinging to my inner maxim. The one that told me that best friends and lovers were bound for a calm, loving journey together. Yet, as our engagement was progressing, I was discovering that there was no way around the inevitable storms that would come our way. We'd just have to work through them together. This takes strength, patience, and a whole lot of dealing with, you guessed it, disappointment.

I came home feeling chipper and upbeat. I couldn't wait to tell my fiancee what Alicia had said, this little nugget of wisdom. More importantly, I couldn't wait to tell him the best news of all - that I knew that we were both in for a shitload of disappointment. Disappointment in each other, our marriage, our unmet needs and desires. But at the end of the day, I still couldn't imagine sharing my life with anyone else.

I guess if misery loves company, the least that you can do, is to make sure that your company is good.