When I was younger, I had a few boyfriends that just didn't make the grade with my friends. They always invited "us" but then would find a moment to corner "me" and mention that our "we" was kinda getting on their nerves. There were all kinds of different reasons why my beau just didn't cut it, often reasons that I, blinded by love and secret schmoopy-doop whisperings, just couldn't see. Either he was stand-offish, selfish, self-involved, boring, judgmental, smothering, cruel, belligerent, exhausting, needy, whatever and just made the people in my life wonder how and when I would come to my senses and release the fool from my team. Before I settled down with the Frenchy who is charming and funny and a little arrogant but also self-depreciating and of course, French and adorable, I really had no idea how putting together a good "we" could allow "me" to have and keep good friends and relations close.
I have witnessed more than a few relationships fall apart because of this situation, but wondered, what happens when the partner in question is not a boyfriend, girlfriend, lover, or pal who can be cut from the squad without legal strings, but is a husband, wife, or business partner? Can a friendship survive if the number 2 always has to tag along? Can you tell your friend that you just can't get down with her man? Out here in the suburbs, people tend to travel in clans. It's not like my former life in the city where packs of roving artists, actors, writers, and single types, often without children could move in and out of circles, trying on different personas, ideas, and accents. In the burbs, you and your partner and sometimes your kiddles move as a subset and merge with other subsets. It's awesome when the wives, the husbands, and the children get along on their own accord, when you don't have to remind someone to be on their best behavior, give them pointers on good conversation, worry that while you are having the time of your life, your partner or your kids are picking lint out of their belly buttons or worse, starting a war.
Political blowhards, lecherous Lotharios, Snoopy marshmallows (as my Frenchy calls the less interesting), inappropriate jokers, and flirty kittens can ruin any night out, dinner, or mixed family gathering. I often wonder, if before heading out the couples have a chat about how to behave. "Please honey, don't tell so and so how gorgeous you thought she was last time. I think it made her uncomfortable." or "Can you just try to add something to the conversation, babe? You have lots to talk about when we are together." I love my Frenchy and I must tell you he is damned funny in French and in English! But truth be told, sometimes I ask him if he wouldn't mind chiming in, sharing a little bit of himself, letting people see how good, funny, intelligent he is. I know that often, we fall for our friends and are so excited by them that we don't imagine that their partners will wilt our flowers, bore us to tears, piss us off to raging blindness. Maybe we don't have to always come as a package. Perhaps it's best to define that role before we force our others on the group and find the space between us grow. Perhaps "we" is too much when all we want is "you" and "me."
If someone told me that they loved hanging with me, but would I mind leaving my Gaul at home, I think I would take that as an assault on my taste and style. Really? You don't want the good stuff? Or worse, you think I don't have the good stuff? Sometimes, it's true, husbands dampen the conversation. Especially when that convo is meant to be about them individually or collectively or about sex or about running away with the trainer (even in jest) or something so private you only want to share it with a good girlfriend, not her husband. But other times, a lively repartee between couples, discourse, new ideas, funny tales can solidify a friendship, make scheduling and entertaining that much easier. And when time is limited, babysitters are scarce, and a good get-together is just what you are looking for, it's nice to know that we can all get along.
(c) Copyright 2012. Repatriated Mama: Back to the Suburban Grind.
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