After a decade or more of dating, I think I have truly seen and heard it all, and I think I’m becoming a bit jaded.
In one otherwise forgettable movie, one of the female characters has the habit, upon encountering a man she’s attracted to, of bluntly asking a series of questions: “Are you married? Are you gay? Do you have a job?”
If they answer yes to the first two (or no to the third), she walks away without a second glance. Eventually, she finds someone who is straight, available and financially secure and they live happily ever after.
I have taken a more subtle approach, and I’ve got a wide variety of rationalizations for answers, all of which equal more or less the same thing:
- “It’s complicated” = married (or as good as married)
- “We’re still living in the same house but we’re not together” = married
- After we had arranged for me to pick him up from his vacation; leaving me at the airport to go home with estranged wife who showed up unannounced = married
- Still socializes with the in-laws on a weekly basis = still married
- “We have an understanding” = married
- “We’re seeing if there’s anything still there between us” = married
- Still wearing ring = married
- Still wearing his ring but on right hand = married
- Still has dent on left ring finger = married
- Saying divorce is imminent but he can’t see me or call me for two weeks while she’s in town visiting = married
- “I’m living with someone but I can’t resist you” = married
- “But she hasn’t had sex with me in four years!” = married
- Asking me to think of her as “an old friend” but referring to her as “my wife” to the rest of the world = still married
- “The spark is gone” = married
- Has to leave the house on pretext of going to the store to call me = married
- Asks me not to call his cell so my number won’t show up on bill = married
- Still has wedding picture displayed in dining room = still married
- Only calls from work = married
- “I just have to get her to a place where the divorce is her idea” = married
- “I can’t afford to get a divorce, she’d take everything” = married
I realize everyone has baggage. (Ahem, those without baggage tend to be extremely boring. Sorry. It’s true.) I try to be a compassionate person who can wait it out for the right guy. Not for the truly married ones mind you, but for the truly separated ones who are going through a hard time before the inevitable divorce. I wish I could be that patient, because maybe I’ve missed out on someone wonderful already. In practice, I am intolerant of ambiguity. Why is this? Take your pick:
- Lingering ex-wife baggage raises alarm bells for the little princess inside me who wants to be the absolute centre of attention.
- Fear that he’ll dump me and go back to the ex – better just not to get too involved in the first place.
- Or, you might say I’ve been burned one too many times on this one (see above).
I could just start taking the blunt approach, but then I don’t believe in Hollywood fairy tales and would never take my cue from a forgettable romantic comedy. Life is messy, and one of these times something wonderful will emerge out of the dating chaos. Relationships are hard enough as it is for pity’s sake – at least let’s start out being not married, OK?
It actually was meant to be funny in that wry way Maggie. I’m glad it came through – and you’ve given me some hope!
Sarah – my thoughts exactly about baggage – it’s all in the way you carry it (or try and dump it on someone else!)
This probably wasn’t meant to be funny, but there is a wry humour to it. When my first marriage ended, I met everyone of those men on your list. I too fell for a few of the lines, only to be suckered in once again.
But take heart. I eventually met a poorly dressed man with a goofy haircut in the midst of an acrimonious divorce. Lots of ex-wife baggage and very little possessions. Twenty-four years and two kids later I’m glad I was curious enough for a second date. He’s my Mister Right, although now I help him clothes shop and he goes to a real hair stylist!
I agree, everyone has baggage. It’s how you carry it that counts. Are you someone who piles it all haphazardly in one of those wheely suitcases, dragging it carelessly behind you so it sways and tumbles, rolling over strangers toes and bashing people in the shins?
Do you keep it carefully in pack clutched to your chest, walking around gingerly so it doesn’t hurt you, or anyone else, ever again?
Or, do you chuck it all in a storage unit and forget about it, moving on with your life?