kethrai's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Stand By Yer Maaaaannnnnnn...with a large stick. I’m being ridiculous, probably. I know I am. Unfortunately, recognizing that you’re being ridiculous doesn’t lessen the idiocy at all—it’s more like being precognitive and stepping on the banana peel anyway. I’m referring back to the paragraph in “Inventory” in which I discuss being frumpy, and what it didn’t get me this summer (the love and adoration of all) and what it did (at least two women wooing my husband openly in front of me, because I was obviously too gray a personality to protest.) Not that the wooing, per se, is the problem, please understand, dear NSR—after all, in the rennish communities we’ve been moving in, “nonstandard” relationships are actually more the standard, so I couldn’t expect anyone to necessarily know on sight that we were monogamous. What I did object to was the overwhelming lack of acknowledgement of my very existence—as if I weren’t even there. So I’ve taken steps this fall. Gotten rested, gotten sane, changed a few things, and decided to spiff myself up some. It took—I’m feeling better, looking better, and some of the folks who were eyeing the Darling Husband assuming that he had a boring little frump of a wife have been set back on their heels a bit, which, however shallow it is of me, I’m enjoying the hell out of. You know. The Cinderella effect. I’m one of those women who kinda teeters the line, physically—or as my mother puts it, I “clean up good”. When not cleaned up...well, you get the picture. Still and all, I’ve cleaned up good this fall and winter. I’m dressing to impress again, and it seems that folks are getting the picture... except for one young lady, whose receiver seems to be broken. This young lady spent a good part of the last show we were at hanging out excessively closely and possessively to my husband, plonking herself on his lap and petting his chest, and doing a magnet-poles-aligned-spring-apart when her husband arrived on the scene not quite in time to catch her at it. If she hasn't figured out yet that what she's doing is not cool with me, some part of her does recognize that it will disturb her husband, and that some part of what she is doing is unacceptable. I'm not sure how LARGE that part is, so I'm waffling on whether I should squash her like a bug or merely bruise her some. I'm ten years older than she is, and much more powerful--the conscience of possessing the bigger guns in the altercation is the only thing that's restrained me so far. Faint echoes of "pick on someone your own size" echo through my head from the days when I was the Tallest Kid in Class. I know full well I can give this kid a good thwomping, intellectually and emotionally and, if it came down to it, physically as well. I'm further handicapped by the fact that most of our interactions take place in public--at various shows--and kicking her ass in front of her peers seems a bit mean. Ironically enough, she’s just gotten married herself. Ironically enough, I recognize in her some qualities of me at that age—she shows signs of having been ugly-teen-turned-pretty-adult, although by any objective standard she’s far prettier than I am. She’s showy, she’s loud, she’s curiously naive, and she’s displaying an unacceptable possessiveness of my husband. Much to the visible dismay of her new husband, who is charming, sweet, devoted to her, good friends with my Darling Husband, and ugly as a stump. He’s a lovely kid. I like them both. (Dear NSR, by now you’re probably wondering where the Darling Husband is in dealing with this young woman. He says he doesn’t see it. I’ve had my perception of this situation corroborated by other female friends, however, so we’ll leave the discussion of “Men—Actual Lack of Perception, or Genuine Stupidity?” for another day. Suffice it to say that as a trained storyteller for 16 years, I can read body language like a book, and I do not approve of her Harlequin Supperromance stances with him.) Her possessiveness is taking the form of claiming my husband for her “brother”, which has been a running joke all season. Which would be fine except that a) she had said HERSELF at one point that she "HAD" to adopt him as a brother, because she was so attracted she’d attack him otherwise and b) it seems rather obvious that incest doesn’t bother her a bit. And while early on, she was professing crushes on us both (NSR’s, have you seen this before? Someone develops a crush, doesn’t want to really admit it, and so develops a “group crush” on their crushee and his/her nearest and dearest, so as to get closer to the crushee? I have, but then I may just be weird) -- she has since dropped any pretense of being particularly friendly with me, uses profoundly possessive body language on my Darling Husband, and is pissing me right the hell off. I will admit to a few failings, dear NSR’s, but territoriality is not usually one of them—at least not in the sense that it’s generally referred to in human relations. After the salutary lessons of my early 20’s, if a lover wishes to leave me, I’d be waving them out the door and handing them their suitcase. There is a catch—they’ll never be allowed BACK through the door again, I'm not THAT noble—-but I swore off “fighting for my man” years and years and years ago. Anybody who puts you in a position where you have to fight for them is generally not worth fighting for. So I'm irritated with this girl for the usual reasons--she's trying to encroach on my relationship--I'm concerned because of a few others, including that her husband is starting to notice her crush and be upset by it--and I am flamingly, flamingly angry that she is transgressing on my hospitality while doing these things. She seems somehow to have missed the information that I am the head of my household, and that all extensions of hospitality should come first through me--she doubly assumes that she may take advantage of the resources of my household while trying to be possessive of my husband. You know how I feel about assumption, folks. Don't go there. Of all of the things that disturb me about this situation, the part of it that bothers me the most--well, let's be honest, the part that I recognize as bothering me the most--is her usage of my resources while pursuing my husband. I don't like being taken for granted under the best of circumstances--and I don't think you can describe these as them. Our spots at various shows have been her stuff-dumping spot, she knows she can come to us for food or comfort or water or a place to sit while working a Ren Faire, which is a serious consideration by the end of the day. To give her credit, at points in time she's tended booth for us, but not nearly as often as she's blithely come in to use resources and do so while flirting with my husband and with her body language, physically blocking my access to him. All in such a way as to suggest that I have no right to protest, because I am visibly no competition. Fuck that. I'm fairly sure she hasn't thought it out. After all, even if she did leave her husband for mine, mine wouldn't touch her with a ten foot pole for the sake of his friendship with her husband alone, let alone the fact of my existence. And I'm positive she hasn't thought about what the loss of our friendship as a couple and as a resource during shows will mean to her--or what will happen amongst the community if she stops beating around the bush and is totally open about pursuing the Darling Husband. I have a number of friends who would eye her dubiously, after that. And I know--boy do I know--that she hasn't taken ME into account, or her Nikes would have acquired some jet fuel by now. So on Saturday, dear NonScheduledReaders, we are doing a show a city or two over, and the young lady--and her husband--will be there. And my friend A. will be watching, and her darling will be watching, and I will be watching, and public place or no, if the young lady continues her dance, I will be putting a spike through her instep. I'm too old for this shit. And frankly, so is she. I'll keep you posted. 5:49 p.m. - 2003-01-29 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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