A different take on memoir

[bunnyjadwiga]

Somehow no-one ever asks the sensible psychological questions about living in a poly household. Assuming they can drag their fevered imaginations away from the bedroom, and fail to sink forever in the morass of missonary tales of polygamy, they want to know why you would put up with it.

They never ask things like "How do you manage who stays home with the kids?" or "When there are two parents of one gender and one of another, do they fall more or less into accepted gender roles?" Sometimes they do wonder how your upbringing and the characters of your parents made you more or less susceptible to poly, but they never ask whether you married a man like your father, like your mother, or a man who married a woman like your mother (or father for that matter).

My many experiences after leaving home, taking with me my mother's temper and my 'older sister of brothers' responsibility and know-it-all-ness, may or may not have created someone uniquely prepared to live in our household. Certainly, it didn't prepare me for living with The Nicest Woman on Earth (who also happens to have something of a passive-aggressive streak, but really doesn't know it). My experiences with the more passive but basically stubborn males of the species were more helpful; having some understanding of when the quilted softness of 'what ever you want, dear," compresses to reveal an iron-hard determination not to yield on some (possibly pointless) point, such as what Levi-Strauss really meant about the Raw and the Cooked...

Our first year together was rocky. I would unpack something and ask where I could put it. Sarah would say "Oh anywhere," and then move it somewhere else whenever I put it down. Juergen and I had epic battles of will over chores (I was essentially re-fighting a number of chore battles where Sarah had gone down without a fight earlier in their marriage) and opinions. (In general, I feel if there's anything more opinionated than me out there, I want it caught and shot now.) Juergen's brand of humor whipped me into a frenzy, since I could never tell when he was serious or making a pun or just winding me up. Sarah rolled her eyes in frustration, coaching me not to rise to his bait... as I foamed at the mouth.

My anxiety and low self esteem manifest as a frantic goal-driven-ness, as sort of "But what have I done for you lately?!" Facing her own anxiety and low self-esteem, Sarah goes vague, a sort of emotional Peril-Sensitive Sunglasses effect, verging on anxiety-induced narcolepsy. It is hard to differentiate this from her natural absent-mindedness and lack of drive (except where crafts are concerned). Add to that the fact that I have no natural tact whatsoever and Sarah, the Nicest Woman in the World, believed wholeheartedly in Shalom Bayis, "peace in the home".* The result often was a heroic logjam of insecurities and meaning-well.

*Sarah's dedication to not causing trouble in the family always struck me as odd, considering that much as I love my in-laws, they squabble like cats in a sack.

On one particular occasion, now known as the Sock Episode, Sarah and I were driving somewhere. As best friends who were pretty much the same clothing size, we shared clothing quite a bit, including a number of pairs of luscious cotton ragg socks I owned. This morning, however, it turned out that the balance of socks ended up all on Sarah's side. Inadvisedly and tactlessly, I tried to explain to Sarah that I didn't mind sharing my socks but I resented it when none of the socks were in my drawer. Sarah pulled over to the side of the highway, snatching off her footgear and ranting "Fine! I'll never borrow your socks again!"

There was a lot of the usual polyamory-standard talking after that, and we agreed that "Socks!" would be the codeword for "I think you're taking this too seriously." "I'll never borrow your socks again!" gets a regular workout in our house....

Comments

[amaebi]

Now, those are the kinds of issues that make sense to me!