The Stepford Saga.

Touching on yesterday 's theme of making an effort in a relationship, I want to share my outrage at a recent conversation I had with a (male) friend. 

This friend of mine is currently going through the very first stages of divorce. Since I've danced that jig already, I've been lending him moral support. He popped round for a cup of tea and I remarked that everyone, no matter what their relationship status, suffers from periods of Greener Grass syndrome. Take me for example. Sometimes being in a relentlessly stable long-term relationship, with the demands of children can be BORING. Yeah I said it. Sure, J is the love of my life, and one day when we get our shit together, we'll gooooo to the chapel and we're gonnnnnnna get ma-a-a-rried. But still, let's be honest. Sometimes I look at my single girlfriends, with their 3am impromptu martini parties after the nightclubs have chucked them out, their illicit, privileged middle-class drug use (don't look so shocked), their dalliances with new and exciting men and I feel jealous. It usually only takes one night out with them to remind myself how much I love J and our family, and I am not going to apologise for needing that reminder. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, yo. 

Anyway. I mentioned how J is working insane hours lately, which I appreciate, and I admire his work ethic as he never complains about it. But! I think lately he hasn't been making much of an effort in our relationship. He comes home late, eats, and goes to bed. He's exhausted, I totally get it. But I suppose I was feeling a little wistful for our long conversations, our silly joking about etc. Also? The burden of cleaning/laundry/getting up at night with the baby has now fallen squarely on my shoulders and it's when all these nuanced conditions align that resentment breeds, insidiously. I know this is a temporary situation and am not so empty-headed as not to realise that the poor fellow is straight-up exhausted. It's not disinterest; he's burnt out. 

On the other hand, I am not keen on sliding into these mandated gender roles slowly, only to look up twenty years down the road and realise that at some point, we forgot to remind each other that, although we've honoured our obligations to home, work and family, we exist as a separate equation. Like I said, relationships take gentle, constant sculpting. 

All this is a lofty way of summing up my whine to my friend. I want J to pull his weight a bit more, I  am also tired, would it kill him to run a sponge over the bathroom, boohoo.  I bleated that I make an effort to do little things that let J know I'm thinking of him (little notes on the kitchen counter for him to see at 5am when he gets up, surprise beer and a DVD left for him if I won't be in when he gets home etc) and sometimes, I'd like a little of that too. 

 Cue the biggest load of bollocks I have EVER heard come out of someone's mouth. APPARENTLY, he claimed, men are simple creatures. (I don't think it does either sex any justice to drag out hackneyed gender stereotypes). He said that J won't regard the things I consider to Be Making An Effort as such, since these things are "just my job". That's right ladies! It's YOUR job to cook and clean and rear the future generation, but don't expect any thanks for it! A woman's work is never done! 

He further stated that sure, I may arrange his favourite pizza to be delivered, paid for in advance if I'll be out at tea time, but so what? That's just dinner, not a grand romantic gesture. I BEG TO DIFFER, Divorce Face. It's not simply the procurement of evening sustenance, it's a caring gesture, a perk surprise with garlic bread on the side. 

Apparently, the solution to my problems lies in pushing down my desire for equal footing, tarting myself up like a high-class Parisian escort and dropping to my knees the moment J walks through the front door. Because men are simple folks! The only gesture they recognise is a sexual one! A chef in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom, quit your bitching you NAG, and hail the conquering hero like a good handmaiden!

The narcissism doesn't bear dwelling on. It's a load of nonsense to suggest that women must use sex to placate "their" men; the cultural theme of the woman lying back and Thinking Of England is at odds with the notion that women like sex too.  Well, not the RIGHT kind of woman - the Madonna and child aesthetic clashes somewhat with the sexually assured woman doesn't want five minutes of missionary twice a week. ANYWAY. 

In summary, the advice I was given was that J would be much more receptive to my requests if I kept him topped up with sexual favours. My friend's reasoning, as far as I could glean, was that men will blank out your heartfelt pleas to improve the quality of your union as "nagging" but if you apply a regimen of frequent blow jobs, they'll be so deliriously impressed with you, they'll readily capitulate to your silly, female whims. The caveat to this is that you must never have frank discussions about the things that are preying on your mind (NAGGING). No, you use subterfuge. You hint. You manipulate. Nobody likes a bossy, school marm of a woman. 

Today is International Women's Day. We've come a long way, baby, but there's still so far to go.