A Crisis of Fidelity

My roommate and I recently decided to co-opt a cat together. It wasn’t long before we came across the ethics of responsible ownership in regards to the cat’s desire for freedom in the outside world, and our own over-protective tendencies. “Do you just open the door and hope it comes back?” I wondered aloud, a little horrified by this idea, having grown up in the sticks and my only memory of the “In versus Out” cat debate being me throwing my monstrous tom outside for my own safety as a small 10 year old when he got large enough to bring down small game.

“It’s kind of like men,” my roommate said. “You hope it remembers where it gets fed.”

“But look at my track record,” I argued. “And you expect me to have faith in a cat?”

Upon further thought, we agreed that I actually may have better luck retaining an un-run-over cat in the city than an un-committed man. Which is just sad. But I really feel, deep down, that it’s kind of like sharks and blood—if a man can smell the fact that you’re not sure if you really want to be committed or in a serious relationship, what’s to stop them from having the same proclivities, too? When I came home, I was pretty sure of what I wanted. I quickly realized, in fact, that what I thought I had wanted and what I quickly found out I really needed were two completely different things. Which resulted in what was roughly the emotional equivalent of leaning over a galvanized barrel while throwing dynamite in to kill the fish swimming around inside. Shrapnel flew, and what remained wasn’t even enough to make sushi anymore. Life picks up the little scaly pieces of the debacle and shrugs.

Watching SATC2, I spent a good deal of time wondering if I liked it or not. Ok, so the clothing, yes-- I think the overwhelming reason for making that movie had to do with that fact that there has been so much gorgeous fashion lately and the public needs to see it on SOMEONE, so hey, 4 women we spent over 6 years staring at isn't a bad choice. In fact, it's a pretty shrewd one. Speaking of shrewdness, the other predictable part of the movie was the relationship drama. But, in this case, I'm not sure it brought up the right questions or fell flat of the mark.

Maybe I sympathized with Carrie too much on this one. In one scene, like many in the movie that star her and Big together, she stands in front of the TV, their clichéd instigator, and asks, "Is this because I'm a bitch wife who nags you all the time?" To which Big replies, "No. I feel like I'm disappointing you."

As Carrie found out, with any disappointment in life, there's only so much one can take before you start to think, "Well, fuck." Exactly that-- fuck. Or kiss. Or look elsewhere for what's missing at home. While her (SPOILER ALERT AHEAD!) kiss with Aidan didn't quite warrant a massive freak-out of transcontinental proportions, though, yes, I do agree she did the right thing in telling Big about her indiscretion. I always prefer when I'm told about matters like that, as I'm sure you are, as well. No one likes being in the dark. No one likes being left fuming and guessing and jumping to horrible conclusion after horrible conclusion. Believe me. I lived it for a number of months.

Speaking of jumping to conclusions, now that I'm back from Italy, everyone is looking at my left hand and the same diamond that's been there for the past 3 years and saying, "You're engaged, I see," like I took the opportunity to run away and madly seduce some rich Italian count with a charming villa somewhere on Lake Como. How do I respond to this? Half of me-- the half that believes that childbirth is a totally unnecessary pain to go through when there are already millions of other children who need families on our already over-populated Earth, and would never, ever drop her last name for matrimonial bliss-- wants to say, "No, and hopefully never," and but the new blasted biological tick-tick-tick-bitch wants to reply with a sigh and a "I wish." I'm settling for a nervous giggle instead as of late. When I get scared, I giggle. I can't help it. Just the idea confounds and terrifies me. What man would want to put a ring on me, anyway? I feel like that's a huge investment risk. Beyonce may preach “If you like it, than you shoulda put a ring on it,” but as the authors of “The Ethical Slut” argue, "A ring around the finger does not cause a nerve block to the genitals" (15).

Hindsight being 20/20, the problem is that running away to Italy to seduce a count (or a pro soccer player) and live foodily ever after would not be so unlike me. My attention span with men has been likened to that of a crack-addled Rhesus monkey. I also have legendary "man-dar"-- if there's a good-looking one within a two-block radius, I know about it. I literally will go on point. I've got a nose for these things, and it's good because I'm like a kid in a very grown-up candy store. I figure, you can look; you may even touch-- just don't let it melt in your hands.

"We may not always know what fits without trying it on, so we tend to be curious and adventurous. When we see someone who intrigues us, we like to feel free to respond" (The Ethical Slut, 5-6). As a flirt, I agree with this sentiment. But as someone who is often a half of a relationship, I can tell you that I am not complacent with being “one of.” I am the sort of person who deserves to be “the one.” Just like you deserve to be “the one” to someone else, and not “one who sometimes comes around.”

This thinking puts me highly at odds with my actions at times. I am highly monogamous as a rule, right up until the point I’m just not anymore, which is what makes it so unexpected or dangerous. There have been times I have found myself in someone else’s bed while not quite out of a relationship with another. There’s no simple flip-switch for this kind of thing, and yet, it can be instantaneous. No one ever can prepare for the connection. Which renders us as helpless as fish in that dynamited barrel. Not flattering when you’re trying to maintain a mysterious, independent persona.

So have I been cheated on? More than twice. Have I been shattered by it? Yes. But have I also been a cheater? Yes. Have I be a co-partner in other’s infidelity? Yes. Does this make me the same wicked bitch of the North-east like I have imagined other women to be? No. It just makes me human, with questionable taste in men. The difference, to me, is that I always ask myself, what are the risks being taken for all involved? Is anyone being purposefully hurt by these actions? Empathy is a huge part in maintaining what is an honest lifestyle. If you wouldn’t want to put in the situation in a reverse role, than my feeling is, don’t do it. But my definitions of some things might be a little skewed. And the problem with my "problem" and my logic is this-- the same men I hunt out have a tendency to be just like me, too. It's one big, dangerous, flammable ball of trouble. Like Carrie found with Aidan, playing with fire can get too hot to handle sometimes. Problems at home-- be it differences in living habits; differences in desires and personalities that get in the way of the partnership; a feeling of constantly needing to "mother" or be "mothered"; miscommunication, or NO communication-- can lead to problems outside of the home.

"Hollywood tells us that 'love means never having to say you're sorry,' and we, fools that we are, believe it. The myth has it that if you're really in love with someone, you never have to argue, disagree, communicate, negotiate, or do any other kind of work" (The Ethical Slut, 18-19). But anyone who has ever partnered with another person for any period of time can tell you, it doesn’t work like that. There will be times when nothing someone is doing seems to be right. You will get annoyed, and frustrated, and brow-beaten, and more than a little convinced that the grass is greener over on that other person’s lawn. Tapping out is an option, but actually putting in the time and effort is the higher road. That’s the beauty of relationships—in the best ones, both you and your S.O should be working for the common goal not only of fulfilling desires, but also of stretching each other while trying to help the other be the best person they can possibly be. That’s what relationships are—challenging.

There’s no perfect code to this; no Rosetta’s Stone to dealing with monogamy or your partner. As Carrie said, "Can you ever expect anyone on the outside to understand what goes on between two people?" No, I don't think you can. I think that every relationship is a tiny little universe in and of itself, and that no matter how long we talk about it with our confidants; no matter how many times we play the movie reels of memory and conversations over and over and over inside our minds; no matter how much we write about it and expand on it; and no matter how enlightened or entitled we think we really are, we will never understand our own relationships, let alone those of the people around us.

XOXO