Fausta at Fausta's blog
sent me this article from the NYT's entitled "The House of No Personal Pronouns."
The writer of the article, Ada Brunstein, provides us with a glimpse into her rather pathological life in which she is living with her "boyfriend," his wife, and her lover as well as a cat. The article reads like some kind of twisted satire from the Onion
when the author contemplates why she is jealous of the wife's presence around the apartment they all share, complete with side by side toothbrushes. As if this isn't enough, the author complains that the wife leaves all of her things around the apartment and she finds herself feeling hostile towards the woman's clothes that are thrown all over the house. As if she has an epiphany, this disgruntled girlfriend states:
WOMEN don’t wage war the way men wage war, not at first, not unless there’s no other way. Men wage war in the open plains and deserts, donning full body armor, lugging lethal weapons. Women wage battles so imperceptibly that it’s not always clear there’s a battle at all, like tremors in the earth that you can’t quite feel, but you may notice the wind is suddenly odd or the animals are acting funny.
Lady, the war's out in the open, you just don't have a clue. This woman is so unaware of her ridiculous situation that she has to wait for the house cat to act funny and start taking a whiz on her and her boyfriend's bed and then on the wife and her boyfriend's bed before she gets the idea that something is amiss. What a psychic.
Ms. Brunstein justifies her decision to move in with the boyfriend and his wife with this pathetic challenge to herself:
At first I liked the edginess of it all. I considered it a personal challenge. In the past, my jealousies had gotten the better of me. I once argued with a boyfriend over whether I would be O.K. with him sleeping with Uma Thurman (should he ever have the chance). Two months later she showed up in a bar we frequented in the West Village and the argument started all over again.
That was the old me. This was going to be the new me. A stronger, cooler, nothing-fazes-me sort of girlfriend who would prove I’ve outgrown the formerly jealous me. I would be unconventional, brave, hip and oh-so-bohemian in my nonchalance.
Girlfriend, you are so utterly conventional (who isn't trying to be edgy in Manhattan?), cowardly, out-of-control and gullible in this situation that if you can't see that, I have some swampland in Florida to tell you about. You haven't outgrown anything, you are as immature and naive as an adolescent who wonders if she can get pregnant by kissing. A mature adult realizes what he or she can and can't live with, they do not ignore their feelings in order to be considered cool and "edgy." The "new you" is not new and improved, it is regressive and immature and cares more about appearances than about substance, but then, isn't that what forcing yourself to be "edgy" when you may not be is all about? Real edginess and bravery in the relationship realm is about knowing what kind of relationship you feel comfortable with, and following suit, even if you look like a dork.
Labels: Modern idiocy