Thursday, July 23, 2009

Silly Girl

You know those girls who were are all anti-men types until they got a boyfriend? You know who I’m talking about. Those girls who whose vibrato would echo through the halls of your high school/workplace/coffee shop/ bar about how she feels sorry for all the girls ‘trapped’ in a relationship? Those girls who smugly fluff themselves up about how they can have a man in their life, but how that relationship would never become the ‘centre’ of their life because they’ll always be so much more than just a girlfriend/spouse/partner/significant other? Until of course they actually get a boyfriend and then they suddenly drop off the edge of the planet for weeks at a time? Yeah, as it turns out I’m one of those girls.

I have been married for a really long fucking time. Maybe not that long if we’re talking Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward married, but considering my age a pretty long goddamn time. The Hubby and I have never been one of those annoying couples who can’t make decisions about what to do or where to go until we talk to the other. We’ve never been overly sloppy or affectionate. Aside from picking food or bugs off each other when the occasion warrants, our public affection is pretty limited. Unless we’re drunk – then we’re grabbing each other’s crotches in the booth of the karaoke bar while some asshole is singing ‘Mustang Sally’.

A’hem. Maybe never mind that last bit.

As I was saying, aside from the necessary “You’ve got something in your teeth. No, THAT tooth” kind of stuff, we’re pragmatic. Unless there is sex at the end of the rainbow we really can’t be bothered.

That is until everything we’ve been working for, for the last fifteen years, ACTUALLY FUCKING HAPPENED. No shit! We’re done school, we each have jobs making a nice wage, we have the same working hours, our kids are all out of the baby phase and fun as hell, we live in a nice house, and our neighbours? The Joneses? We’re totally kicking their ass. We have finally reached the Mecca. The promise land, if you will, and it is a nice little normal existence comprised entirely of suburban bliss. Had I been writing this about someone else, I would have used the word ‘drudgery’ right then. SCOFFED at the everyday minutia that only people not nearly as creative and enlightened as myself find themselves existing in on a daily basis. You know what? Fuck that shit.

So far minutia is totally fucking awesome. No scrambling to figure out who is picking up who when. No fighting about who fed the kids between classes/working/lessons/meltdowns. We get up, we head off, come home, eat dinner, play with the kids, drink a bottle of wine, shoot the shit and go to bed. That’s it folks, and WOW is my life easier. I’m in fact so totally into my new reality that I’ve completely dropped off the social radar. I’m not even getting invites out anymore because my friends have figured out that I’m just going to totally ignore them anyway. Why would I go anywhere else? It turns out I actually AM living with my best friend! How cool is that?

Not only have I turned into one of those silly girls who abandon their friends for a dude, but I’m all sunshine and rainbows about it too. In fact, every time I have a conversation outside Mr. Bluebird rests upon my shoulder. I don’t even need to shop anymore because whenever I need anything fairy music starts up and woodland creatures magically appear to dress me in toile and sing me songs about happiness. You know what is the most ironic thing of all? I totally fucking HATE people like me.

I know a new reality will eventually settle in and the fairy music and woodland creatures will tire of me and go looking for their next silly bitch to infect with optimism and hope. I have no doubt my eyes will be rolling again soon enough.

But until that day comes I’m going to enjoy my newfound, if not fleeting, sense of blissful and contented existence. My friends will still be there when I’m ready to come back to the dark side. Something is BOUND to piss me off sooner than later so I'll need them soon enough.

Besides, the Hubby never has any spare tampons in a pinch. That selfish prick.