Monday, April 27, 2009
I stopped by my sister's place for a cup of coffee and to listen to her grandchildren scream while she babysat them. What are they, four and two? That sounds about right. I've mentioned before that my family has a propensity toward shotgun weddings. That's how both mom and Junior became grandmothers by the time they turned forty. I can easily line up four generations of women in our family for a neat little pictorial illustrating dubious choices made as teenagers. They might all be smiling, but in their hearts there's a seed of resentment that couldn't be better tended by Martha Stewart herself. As far as I can tell, the straight women in my family don't have much respect for men. They harbor a resigned bitterness toward the men they claim to love, as if they are feckless pawns at the mercy of their fates and desires. Unable to take an active role in their happiness and thereby left carping about their lot for what may only seem like an eternity.
Maybe I'm being unfair, or over/under thinking their motivations. Whatever it is, I couldn't be gayer about being a lesbian! Oh, and the men in the family complain too, but they've invested a lot less time into formulating their arguments. If you're only willing to present your case during commercial breaks, half your audience is the bathroom and the other half is twittering.
It's a conundrum out there for the straights. I don't know how they hold on to hope, those starry-eyed dreamers.