The other day I handed both my son and my daughter a $10 bill. They were surprised, to say the least, since I don't believe in paying children allowance for good behavior. I contend that if they do their assigned chores, get high marks in school and mind what I say, I will reward them with a roof over their heads and food in the fridge. It seems to be working out pretty well.
"What's this for?" asked my 8-year-old daughter.
"It's for your therapy fund," I replied.
My 13-year-old son chortled at the baby, who looked confused. "You'll get it later," he told her.
Now, I don't want to step on my own Va-Judy here, but recently it has been brought to my attention that I suffer from R.I.D., also known as Relationship Insanity Disorder. This allows me to "rid" myself of any person who even remotely resembles what I think I'm looking for. In short, I don't know what in the hell I want.
Last weekend marked my six- month anniversary with Jay, my best friend-turned-intimate love interest. I haven't had a six-month anniversary in at least five years. Not since the Turtle, the first boyfriend I had after my divorce. Turtle and I dated for almost two years, more off than on. We put the funk in dysfunctional! We broke up after I found a random girl's number in his cell phone (yep, I was snooping) and called her. Turned out he was cheating on me and telling her that he had just dumped his psycho ex (yep, that would be me). So I quickly befriended the random chick by playing the part of the victim, something I do well. Then I three-way-called the Turtle with the random chick quietly listening to every word. I put the kibosh on their seedy relationship, as well as ours.
But now I can look back and laugh. I was younger, more naïve and totally out of practice. Of course, now that I think I've got this whole dating/relationship thing down, I am finding that it's only gotten more complicated as the years have flown past.
I mean, hell, 40's breathing down my back. Aren't I supposed to want to find my soul mate, get married and settle down, start wearing a bra and stop partying with my girlfriends and give up my lifestyle, my space and lose my identity? I know, I know, it doesn't have to be that dramatic, but it certainly was the first time around, and that's left me feeling a bit gun-shy. Of course, I've dreamed of nothing else for the seven years since my divorce, and now that my life is finally looking like it's going in that direction, I'm FREAKING OUT!
My hands were shaking as I fumbled with the small gift bag Jay handed me the morning after our six-month anniversary. He had already given me several gifts, which made me laugh my ass off. Pink and green being my favorite colors in the entire world, he made them the theme of his gift-giving. I received a pair of pink and green, old-school Converse, a pink cashmere scarf, a green cashmere scarf, a pink sweater and a green raincoat; each gift came specially wrapped in white paper with pink and green bows that had been decorated with daisies, my favorite flowers. He never misses a beat and his thoughtfulness always takes my breath away.
When he told me that he had one final gift, I was excited, but not too surprised. He is far and away the most incredibly thoughtful and generous boyfriend any girl could ask for. So why, then, was my heart racing as I fumbled clumsily with the tiny gift bag? Why were my hands shaking and my breath so shallow? Because in the deepest recesses of my heart I was terrified that inside that tiny bag was the key to my future. I was afraid that I was about to be confronted with a decision that I was suddenly not so ready to make.
If it's an engagement ring, I'm going to die! I'm absolutely going to die!
"It's not an engagement ring," he said as I turned the bag over and the ring landed in my palm.
And why in the hell isn't it? Am I not good enough to marry? Bastard! I've given him six of the best months of his life, why isn't he proposing?
"It's a promise ring," he went on. "It's my promise that my heart belongs to you and always will." Loosely translated, he was promising he wouldn't start lying for at least another six months. And he was buying time. What a great move. Put a ring on the most important digit a girl possesses, call it a "promise" and knock her off the market. Brilliant!
He slipped the simple but elegant diamond band on my finger. It was too big and slipped right off. Was that a sign? Even though it was too big, I immediately felt as though it were cutting off my circulation. Not so much to my finger as to my windpipe. I wasn't engaged ... yet. But suddenly, my entire single life was flashing before my eyes. Now we were playing for keeps.
My R.I.D was kicking in, full force. As much as I've always thought I wanted to be married, I suddenly wasn't so sure. But the fact that he wasn't asking made me wish he would—and the idea of growing old alone was too much to handle. I suppose that in order to find what we think we need, we must first define what it is that we want.
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?