I think the closest (and married) people in my life pretty much did their level best to singlehandedly destroy any hope whatsoever of me ever experiencing a drama-free and happy marriage. People with successful marriages too, mind you.
They ruined me. RUINED ME I say.
To which they argue: Nyet nyet, they destroyed nothing… besides a fantasy.
But I AM my fantasy! Or… my fantasy is me? Well something like that. I’m sure that makes sense to somebody around here. Or at least the idealism and fantasy of hoping and believing a peaceful marriage was entirely possible.
To which a married friend replies, “Once there was an episode of X-Files, where Mulder found a genie that lived in a lamp. And he wished for peace…
…and every single person on the planet besides him disappeared.”
You know, the first 30 years of my life contained enough drama to span 10 lifetimes. My life then was like being trapped in an episode of General Hospital, but where the video gets stuck and I wind up reliving the same insufferably melodramatic scene, over and over and over and over again.
Quite frankly, I had enough. I need quiet, peace, still waters, wisping clouds and gentle breezes. As an introvert, I crave it, yearn for it, pine for it.
But sadly, as I have come to learn from the enlightened sages of my generation, this affinity for peace and quiet is really a reflection of my desire to suppress women and perpetually keep them in the dark chains of patriarchal bondage and despair.
No, seriously, there’s actually an article out there that says this. The desire for peace and quiet is apparently a male trait that is in truth a subconscious need by male brutes to keep women from making themselves heard. Or at least that’s sort of the conclusion this clearly enlightened feminist arrives at after reading the NYT article, “I’m Thinking. Please. Be Quiet.”
And yet. Something off-putting lurks behind Prochnik’s whole Mr. Darling “a little less noise there” routine. Maybe it’s just that the expectation that one can work in pin-drop quiet feels very … male, or at least alien to a lot of women’s experience. We’ve usually got a colleague asking us for help with the copy machine (we’re supposed to be the office team players) or a kid crying in the other room (we log more of the child care hours) or a floor to vacuum (ditto the housework hours). Generally, we’re taught to deal with these distractions rather than demand a lofty silence befitting our magnificent alpha brains.
I give up. Clearly I’m not smart enough to understand the introvert’s deference for quietude is in reality just another battlefront in the WAR AGAINST WOMEN!!11!eleventy!!
So lesson learned: asking for a quiet and peaceful marriage is a clearly sexist and grotesquely chauvinistic thing to do. I’m sorry. I truly apologize. I shall now attempt to rectify this egregious error and learn how to reintroduce as much drama back into my life as possible, using tips I pick up by watching the last few seasons of New Girl.