If life were a playground - really a playground, I mean - then romance would be a swing and friendship a see-saw. Romantic love is a giddy ride, at least until you hit the ground, when sometimes you can discover you were flying alone all the time. But nobody can keep a see-saw in the air, or even get it off the ground, unless a friend of equal weight and enthusiasm is happy on the other side.
You dont fall in friendship the way you fall in love - you walk into it with your eyes open. Chemistry plays a part, but it is minor compared to its role in romantic relationships. We go into friendship head over hormones and, as a result, we can be in control of our choice of friends.
Friendship means being a friend. You're in it together. Yes, you tell a friend your joys and troubles and if you call yourself a friend, then you listen too, even when you'd rather not.
So, how do you rate your best friends with your partners and do they get along, try to tolerate each other or do you always have to worry about keeping them both happy whenever they are in each other's company?
A perfect life would be if your friends and your significant other got along, but personal experience has decreed that this is not so. My friends hate my boyfriend. They think he is a no-good two-timer and I can do so much better than him. My boyfriend thinks my friends are insane party girls who date too frequently. Im trapped between this battle of wills. I love them both but im being forced to choose between them.
George (not real name), a friend of mine is facing a similar problem. His best friend is a chic and his girlfriend doesnt like her. Worse, they dont even try to get along. They always avoid each other as much as they can. George refuses to choose between them. He says they are both important to him, in their own separate ways. Of course he swears nothing could ever happen between him and his best friend. And I believe him. Afterall there is such a thing as 'just friends'.
Jackie (also not real name), another friend, was telling me only recently how her boyfriend has joined a certain 'clique' of girls. "What's he doing in a girl 'clique' anyway?" According to Jackie, a man is only yours when he is with you. As soon as he closes the door behind him, you can never be sure.
Maybe, but shouldnt people give their partners the benefit of a doubt? Dont people trust their partners anymore? The worst bit of it is that while they are suspicious of their partners, they wont leave them just because their friends said so. Uh-uh. And they wont dump their friends either.
But anybody who's ever been in the position of hating his/her friend's partner knows better than to try to split the couple. Much as he/she doesnt want to see his/her friend get hurt, its always wise to let them make their own judgements or mistakes, otherwise, they will spend the rest of their lives wondering what could have been and blamingyou for it. And you dont want that on your conscience, do you? You dont think you'd get heartfelt gratitude for stopping your friend from making the worst mistake of her life?(Snigger!) The best you'll get is an accusation for teying to ruin her life. Ask me.I've been down that road before.
So what do you do if your best friend and significant other hate each other's guts? Leave them alone. Never talk about one in the other's presence, never hang out with them both at the same time. Keep them away from each other. Dont invite your friends to your wedding. Tough, huh? Well, maybe you can invite them to your wedding, but only because of the gifts.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
TO BE OR NOT TO BE A HOUSEWIFE
Ive been having fantasies. About housewives. About being one. How much it would be to just potter around all day making the house look nice? Fiddling about with some flowers; popping to the gym; getting a little squiffy over lunch with the girls, then popping into a boutique, buying some stuff!
Alright, im joking. I know its not really like that. I dont mean to denigrate what homemakers do. I know its hard, hard work, so much that I think it should be given a monetary value. If a man didnt have a handy wife to take care of his children, do his laundry, cook his meals, clean his house and have sex with him, he'd have to pay someone else to do it. (Call me cynical, but i reckon that's the real reason Captain Von Trapp married Maria in "The sound of music"- so he could stop paying her).
But im not the only one having fantasies. At least two of my friends, both well-paid, stressy jobs, have admitted that they would love to just give it all up and be supported by someone else.
It's very fashionable, you know, thw whole domestic goddess thing. Baking your own cakes, making your own cushion covers.
So what's going on? What does it mean? Because when i was 18, the worst insult that could be levelled at another woman was, "All she wants to do is marry some rich man and be a housewife."
Back then, it was all about being ambitious. Whenever I thought of work, I saw myself power-marching down a wide corridor wearing a short red suit and high black stilletos, winking saucily at men in well-cut jackets. I saw myself, swivelling in a black leather chair, my hose-clad legs upon my desk, tapping a pen against my teeth as I made an important phone call. What the phone call might be about was always rather sketchy.
Infact, all the details of 'work' were a little vague, and the only thing I was certain about was the red suit. I had no clue that work might entail being tired or bored or scared or skint. That I'd have to get up early and walk to the taxi stage or brave the cold on a bajaj. Having to look for transport every single morning.
Recently, a survey showed that a high percentage of women in their late 20s would prefer to be housewives than have a career. Apparently, they'd seen their own mothers, products of the second wave of feminism, trying to have it all-home, children, job-and instead just ending up doing it all.
This was gleefully interpreted (by misogynist types?) to mean that the women's movement had been a wate of time: that women didnt actually want careers at all. Never had. But what it really means is that the women's movement didnt go far enough. If we had continued pushing for affordable, safe childcare, for longer maternity leave, for paternity leave, for more flexible working hours and for men to do more housework, it could all be different. Men can have it all. Why? Because women are being housewives to 2 people- their partners and themselves.
So, no wonder a stress free, stay at home life seems attractive. But imagine if we couldnt work.
Maybe this is just a phase we are going through. We are knackered and the whole world doesnt seem safe. Our food is full of mysterious extras, our water polluted, and a retreat to old fashioned values feels like a retreat to safety.
We want to be housewives, but only because we know we dont have to be.
Alright, im joking. I know its not really like that. I dont mean to denigrate what homemakers do. I know its hard, hard work, so much that I think it should be given a monetary value. If a man didnt have a handy wife to take care of his children, do his laundry, cook his meals, clean his house and have sex with him, he'd have to pay someone else to do it. (Call me cynical, but i reckon that's the real reason Captain Von Trapp married Maria in "The sound of music"- so he could stop paying her).
But im not the only one having fantasies. At least two of my friends, both well-paid, stressy jobs, have admitted that they would love to just give it all up and be supported by someone else.
It's very fashionable, you know, thw whole domestic goddess thing. Baking your own cakes, making your own cushion covers.
So what's going on? What does it mean? Because when i was 18, the worst insult that could be levelled at another woman was, "All she wants to do is marry some rich man and be a housewife."
Back then, it was all about being ambitious. Whenever I thought of work, I saw myself power-marching down a wide corridor wearing a short red suit and high black stilletos, winking saucily at men in well-cut jackets. I saw myself, swivelling in a black leather chair, my hose-clad legs upon my desk, tapping a pen against my teeth as I made an important phone call. What the phone call might be about was always rather sketchy.
Infact, all the details of 'work' were a little vague, and the only thing I was certain about was the red suit. I had no clue that work might entail being tired or bored or scared or skint. That I'd have to get up early and walk to the taxi stage or brave the cold on a bajaj. Having to look for transport every single morning.
Recently, a survey showed that a high percentage of women in their late 20s would prefer to be housewives than have a career. Apparently, they'd seen their own mothers, products of the second wave of feminism, trying to have it all-home, children, job-and instead just ending up doing it all.
This was gleefully interpreted (by misogynist types?) to mean that the women's movement had been a wate of time: that women didnt actually want careers at all. Never had. But what it really means is that the women's movement didnt go far enough. If we had continued pushing for affordable, safe childcare, for longer maternity leave, for paternity leave, for more flexible working hours and for men to do more housework, it could all be different. Men can have it all. Why? Because women are being housewives to 2 people- their partners and themselves.
So, no wonder a stress free, stay at home life seems attractive. But imagine if we couldnt work.
Maybe this is just a phase we are going through. We are knackered and the whole world doesnt seem safe. Our food is full of mysterious extras, our water polluted, and a retreat to old fashioned values feels like a retreat to safety.
We want to be housewives, but only because we know we dont have to be.
MARRIAGE? ME?
Ever wondered about getting married - if you're single, that is (of course, silly me - everyone has). Almost every girl dreams about it. After all, we are the ones who beg, hint at it, hunt them down, read to them articles about bad consequenses of ageing on sperm mobility, sweet talk them, all because we want to walk down the aisle. After 6 months of dating, a girl inevitably thinks about it.
What the girls dont realise is that walking down the aisle is like lambs to the slaughter. Its like chicken voting for christmas. Its like walking onto the path of a speeding truck with no brakes.
Not so for men apparently. Men thrive in the institution of marriage. According to the surveys, married men are by average healthier, wealthier, happier and live longer .
But once they are enscosed in this honourable institution, they seem to suffer from sudden memory loss - "Where are my socks?" will be heard booming through your house. There is also that astounding lack of knowlegde in all things culinary. After watching one episode of "Kook and Dine" he insists that the meat must go in before the onions. And when the babies come (and they will!), you'll be bowled over at the amazing male propensity of sleeping through wails that bring your armed askaris climbing through your window.
And silly us - we want all sorts of things we believe is our right during marriage. Like affection. And feeling loved and respected. We want a confident man. A successful man who not only brings home the bread, but the mercedes for you with a bunch of red roses too. A man who can make love all night and make clever conversation by day. A man who can tell a joke, but not be a joke! A man who tells his mother where to go when she says - pointedly looking at you - that he's lost weight. A man who can explore his feelings and care about yours. A friend. A good father. A good dancer. A good kisser.
Well let me tell you what he wants! And this comes straight from a man (well many men). A man wants a wife "to look good, provide great sex, join in his recreational activities and tell him he is wonderful. That/s it!
However, society likes marriages. It keeps us women off the streets and in the kitchen. Besides, some women are still happy to say we'll love, honour and obey! Obey!
But lest I sound like a bonafide spinster, let me add: there is a place for marriage. It's a primitive need to want a man to commit to you, but the contract of marriage is useful for ensuring you have some say over the family resources when you're home burping the babies.
But there's no need to rush. Take your time. Check him out. Check his competition out. See what your friends think.
And while you're evaluating him, drink alcohol for breakfast, eat icecream for supper, kiss lots of boys, have lots of girls nights out - you'll miss all that when it's gone.
What the girls dont realise is that walking down the aisle is like lambs to the slaughter. Its like chicken voting for christmas. Its like walking onto the path of a speeding truck with no brakes.
Not so for men apparently. Men thrive in the institution of marriage. According to the surveys, married men are by average healthier, wealthier, happier and live longer .
But once they are enscosed in this honourable institution, they seem to suffer from sudden memory loss - "Where are my socks?" will be heard booming through your house. There is also that astounding lack of knowlegde in all things culinary. After watching one episode of "Kook and Dine" he insists that the meat must go in before the onions. And when the babies come (and they will!), you'll be bowled over at the amazing male propensity of sleeping through wails that bring your armed askaris climbing through your window.
And silly us - we want all sorts of things we believe is our right during marriage. Like affection. And feeling loved and respected. We want a confident man. A successful man who not only brings home the bread, but the mercedes for you with a bunch of red roses too. A man who can make love all night and make clever conversation by day. A man who can tell a joke, but not be a joke! A man who tells his mother where to go when she says - pointedly looking at you - that he's lost weight. A man who can explore his feelings and care about yours. A friend. A good father. A good dancer. A good kisser.
Well let me tell you what he wants! And this comes straight from a man (well many men). A man wants a wife "to look good, provide great sex, join in his recreational activities and tell him he is wonderful. That/s it!
However, society likes marriages. It keeps us women off the streets and in the kitchen. Besides, some women are still happy to say we'll love, honour and obey! Obey!
But lest I sound like a bonafide spinster, let me add: there is a place for marriage. It's a primitive need to want a man to commit to you, but the contract of marriage is useful for ensuring you have some say over the family resources when you're home burping the babies.
But there's no need to rush. Take your time. Check him out. Check his competition out. See what your friends think.
And while you're evaluating him, drink alcohol for breakfast, eat icecream for supper, kiss lots of boys, have lots of girls nights out - you'll miss all that when it's gone.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Of names and endearments
I once fell in love with a rotter because of the way he said my name. Well, to be honest, it wasn't, strictly speaking, my name. It was the name of a fat little pink pig. "Babe," he would drawl on my phone, and i would sizzle up like a piece of streaky bacon. He was that hot, i believed.
The nice man who, happily, I landed up with has a theory about why it is that men more often call the women in their lives by terms of endearment than women do their men: "Men love their women more than women love them back," he says. What an adorable thought!
However, i have my own theory on why men call their women Angel, sweetheart, sweetie, or even honey. Its because they are worried - ok, petrified - of yelling out another woman's name during sex. Imagine: "Oh Carol!" "No. Its Monica, actually." Or: "Oh Mummy!".A girl could get worried about her man if that happened."Sweetness!" is just so much safer. (Although, a note to men: "Thank you! Thank you!" and "you're marvellous! The best, the best!" is also quite good.)
There's also the theory, held by my married-for-ages friend Tiger (my nickname, not her man's) that women are less likely to call their men names, because they are more likely to be of the obscene, cursing variety.
Come to think of it, even nice pet names can turn nasty. A friend of mine and her man found themselves on a long drive with me in the back seat. To get the full impact of the following bit of dialogue from that drive, I suggest you read it aloud, in a pinched, uptight kind of voice (hers), and a snappy, irritated, married voice (his).
"Angel," she hisses, don't you think you're driving a little too fast?"
"No, my love, I don't!"
"Sweetheart, isn't 140 a teeny bit on the fast side? Darling?"
"Would you prefer to drive the car then, my precious?"
"Now you're doing 150! You sonofabitch! Etcetera.
Really, how bad is it to spread a little gloopiness? Not so terribly awful, as long as the term of endearment is meant as an endearment. So go on, sweetiepies, enjoy!
The nice man who, happily, I landed up with has a theory about why it is that men more often call the women in their lives by terms of endearment than women do their men: "Men love their women more than women love them back," he says. What an adorable thought!
However, i have my own theory on why men call their women Angel, sweetheart, sweetie, or even honey. Its because they are worried - ok, petrified - of yelling out another woman's name during sex. Imagine: "Oh Carol!" "No. Its Monica, actually." Or: "Oh Mummy!".A girl could get worried about her man if that happened."Sweetness!" is just so much safer. (Although, a note to men: "Thank you! Thank you!" and "you're marvellous! The best, the best!" is also quite good.)
There's also the theory, held by my married-for-ages friend Tiger (my nickname, not her man's) that women are less likely to call their men names, because they are more likely to be of the obscene, cursing variety.
Come to think of it, even nice pet names can turn nasty. A friend of mine and her man found themselves on a long drive with me in the back seat. To get the full impact of the following bit of dialogue from that drive, I suggest you read it aloud, in a pinched, uptight kind of voice (hers), and a snappy, irritated, married voice (his).
"Angel," she hisses, don't you think you're driving a little too fast?"
"No, my love, I don't!"
"Sweetheart, isn't 140 a teeny bit on the fast side? Darling?"
"Would you prefer to drive the car then, my precious?"
"Now you're doing 150! You sonofabitch! Etcetera.
Really, how bad is it to spread a little gloopiness? Not so terribly awful, as long as the term of endearment is meant as an endearment. So go on, sweetiepies, enjoy!
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