More and more these days we are faced with friends and loved ones in the midst of relationship dramas. Add to this the seemingly never ending stories of friends of friends and complete strangers alike, going through whirlwind marriage break ups to rival even that of Kim Kardashian, you have to wonder where and why it all goes wrong.
I don’t know if I’m just ultra sensitive to it given my current state of wedding mania but it seems to be nearly weekly that I’m hearing of a called off engagement, a quickie divorce, or simply the breakdown of a long term relationship. Although I’m guessing it never ‘simply’ at all.
Did these girls go through the same thing I’m going through? Experiencing overwhelming feelings of love for their partner combined with an insatiable desire to make them happy forever?
Lord knows no relationship is easy. Times get tough and arguments get had. That’s just a given when two people share their life, bed, breakfast etc. If we were all the same, that life would be insanely boring. And I for one am an absolute stickler for a good argument. I love it. I find one of Fiances most frustrating traits is his inability and therefore resolute refusal to indulge me one single out and out screaming match. It drives me crazy. The moment he senses an difficult moment is brewing, he becomes a clam. I become a fierce dragon and he becomes a clam. A smart clam that knows anything he says will be twisted and manipulated and misconstrued just to maximise the ferocity and duration of precious argument time. Well I have news for you my molluscular companion, you’re friend Ronan Keating is wrong this time. You don’t say it best when you say nothing at all, at all. You say it worst when you say nothing at all. Your silence is fuel to the fire. But still, I have to pull out all the stops and come out with some outrageous, embellished statements in order to extract any kind of response from him. But usually it’s just silence. “JUST FIGHT WITH ME GODDAMMIT!!” I am going to make chowder out of you.
I have sneaky strategy, based on building the pressure slowly. I guess it’s a bit like fishing. Start with a little bit of bait. No bites. More bait. No bites. Maybe throw some fishy burley in to encourage a bit more action. Hmmmm. Be patient, he will bite eventually. Hide the hook so he won’t see it coming, frame the argument in such a way that he will no longer be able to maintain his stubborn silence. Because we all know that silence does not constitute any kind of defence. Argue your innocence. It’s the only way through this. You know what? Fuck it, I hate fishing, don’t have the patience for it. I’m going in for the kill, time to ramp this baby up. So the pressure builds in the form of ridiculous, conniving remarks now crafted with one goal in mind. Bang. I’ve broken him down. He finally responds. But it’s always in this preposterous, high pitched whingey voice and the words tumble out of his mouth so fast that the punctuation and the oxygen is left behind. Words spilling over, drowning me in outlandish decibels. “OMG – shut up!” Fiance’s second most annoying trait. But it is effective. Mission accomplished. I do not wish to pursue the argument any further for two reasons; a) I’ve already won b) the noise and the speed of said noise is so unbelievably irritating, I’d actually prefer the clam treatment. Sometimes it’s actually hard to keep a straight face after the squeaky speedy argumentative fiancé appears.
Some other soccer wags and I have discussed perhaps introducing a card system into the house, much like those used by the referee during a match to warn and discipline offending players. After years of careful observation, it seems that once they’ve fouled on the pitch and aroused the attention of the ref, they undergo this amazing transformation into the nicest guy in the world, instantly showering the opposing, downtrodden player with affection in the form of hugs, back pats and hand shakes. “Sorry mate, sorry, I’m sorry – you right? Didn’t mean to hurt you mate. Come here and give us a hug. You right? You’re alright. See ref, he’s fine. I didn’t do anything wrong ref. Let me explain to you what happened.” The biggest production ensues to try to convince the ref they didn’t mean it, it was an accident. It usually doesn’t work and the ref flashes his yellow card in their face, regardless of their Oscar worthy performance, at which point they skulk off muttering obscenities under their breath. Yellow means you have been naughty and if you do it again you can’t play anymore. Two yellows equals a red. Red is bad. There is no coming back from a red. Red equals sin bin to go and think about what you’ve done. Sometimes, if you’re really naughty, you can get a red straight away with no yellow warnings.
So, as long suffering wags, I could see how this method could be more effective than my current argument inducing strategy. You’ve pissed me off so you get a yellow. Cue pleading and begging for forgiveness (as per above) . Yellow cards trumps a clam. Or if it’s really bad, no argument, red card, get out of my face. Or maybe just get out. Which leads me to believe that perhaps a few red cards have been involved in all these break ups lately. Whether they are the result of a single act or the culmination of several yellow card warnings.
Every relationship needs a few yellow cards now and then, but repeat offences are not tolerated. Anyway, the yellows in our house are largely infrequent and mostly for made up offences. The moral of the ramblings today is to maintain an acute awareness of where you are both at, all of the time. You have to keep checking in and checking up on the health of your mojo. It's so precious. Ignoring it will make it go away. People change and people grow, keep rediscovering each other and grow together. Be conscious that it is probably not a fairy tale. It’s not meant to be. It’s having a hand to hold tightly along the journey, a hand that is attached to the arm that will hold you at your weakest which is powered by that heart. The heart that will love you at your worst.
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