Strange relationship habits of married people: "Hi" fidelity

I’ll admit it. I’m fascinated with married people. God willing, I’ll be one of them someday, so I study them … They’re mysterious. They’re exciting. They’re sexy. But sadly, often they’re a big, messy, swirling mass of emotions and egos and legs and arms and vows and rings and children and wallets …

One thing that strikes me particularly hard about married folk is how frequently narrow their definition of loyalty is … as long as they’re not groping the neighbour over the fence, then they think they’re doing alright in the faithfulness department.

I’m certainly no expert, never having been married, but it doesn’t take a genius to see from the bleachers when you’re riding your horse the wrong way ‘round.

I was grocery shopping recently, standing in the produce section, and there was a man beside me. He spun around to look at his wife, held up a red-mesh bag of oranges, and asked "are these ok?" She did nothing. She said nothing. She just glared.

When he turned back, he caught my eye ... muttered “what a b!+ch” … shrugged his shoulders and put the oranges back ... still not sure whether he had gotten clearance to put the fruit in the cart or not. Maybe they bickered earlier about tangerines and she was still annoyed … maybe he used those little flower soaps in the powder room meant for VIPs only … maybe she really was a b!+ch, I wouldn’t know. But he sure did … and he told me so. And that was what shocked me most … that he would say that to me, a complete stranger, about his wife.

From witnessing that one exchange between that man and his wife, I realized that I hoped someday I would be able to meet a man I could and would trust enough to make any decision on my behalf, from minute to monumental ... decisions about my life, our life together, and our children’s lives ... not just what kind of produce goes into the refrigerator ... and I would yield that to him when I needed to … willingly, happily, gratefully - never begrudgingly - and he would be certain I was confident in him … and there would never be anything about being in the grocery store that would render him any less trustworthy, capable or lovable.

I was at an awards assembly at Eden’s school last year. The adults invited were the parents of the children who were receiving some kind of recognition of achievement. Beside me, sat a couple … married, certainly there for their child, but obviously not truly together. At a time when they should have been sporting smiles brighter than their rings … elbowing each other, pointing at their baby and giggling “we made that” … he was sitting hunched over, thumb-pecking at his Blackberry … she with her legs crossed, foot wagging in irritation. I shifted in my chair and she took it as an opening to bond with me … rolled her eyes in the direction of her husband … and, as if apologizing, whispered “he’s such a jerk”.

Maybe he was being a jerk, I certainly didn’t know. He seemed like he was being a bit of an arse, but maybe there was some compromise that he was able to attend the assembly, but had to stave off global nuclear war and save the earth’s pilot whale population from his Blackberry all at the same time. Besides, there were other kids whose parents didn’t or couldn’t show up at all. I wouldn’t know what kind of dude or dad he was, but his wife knew … and she told me so.

And what shocked me most was that she would say that to me, a complete stranger, about her husband … about the father of her children.

And, from all of it, I have learned that someday when I find someone that I choose and who chooses me to grab hands and make a life together with, I would do everything I could to make sure there was is never a single moment he or anyone else … friend, family or stranger … doubt he is my teammate and has my loyalty in all things. Whether we are in each other’s presence or apart, he will know he is the person I want to be joined to in love, life, responsibility and friendship ... even when he’s being a jerk … and most certainly also when I’m being one too.

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