I rely on my parents, a lot. Even though they don’t live nearby, my mother is often the first person I go to when things are going wrong. I have close friends, but sometimes there are things I can only tell my mother. When things aren’t going well and when I feel like a failure. I know my parents will love me – no matter what. (After all, that is their job.)
I am sure I rely on them too much, though I suspect this would be different if I had a partner. I suspect those with lovers or husbands or partners arrive home and whinge to them about their day; seek a hug when they are stressed or fraught with despair; or share their tears when they don’t get a job they expected to.
I have some very close friends who know almost everything about my life, but sometimes I don’t go to them. They are mostly there for me, but I am not their priority and sometimes it is too hard to admit failure to those who don’t HAVE to love you.
I have a number of single and married friends in their 30s, 40s and 50s. Some have kids, some don’t. For most of these friends, their families continue to play a major part in their lives. Parents and siblings feature often in our discussions - in both positive and negative ways.
Like me, for some of my closest friends, their parents (mostly mothers and grandmother in one instance) remain confidants, offering constant and unwavering support and comfort.
As well as the emotional support family provides, there is also the practical assistance that comes from being a member of a family. You babysit, even when it is inconvenient and you help out when someone becomes sick. You attend family get-togethers; from celebrations to annoying family requirements. You make an effort even when you don’t want to. After all, when everything else goes to hell in a handbasket, family is all we might have left.
So, this is what I don’t get. They don’t really appear in Sex and the City. Relatives that is. In my recent spate of viewing random episodes on Pay Television, I watched Charlotte marry Trey. She faltered just before walking down the aisle and grabbed Carrie to seek reassurance. Concerns allayed, Carrie disappeared and an older man emerged from the wings and took Charlotte’s arm to walk to her down the aisle. I can only assume this man was her father, or step-father, or equivalent. But there he was – nameless and almost faceless. Was there a mother I wondered? While planning the perfect wedding, I don’t recall Charlotte ever mentioning a father or mother.
I know the show focused on the friendships, but it also focused on the girls’ lives – and I feel like there was a big chunk missing. In some ways the show was a ‘manual’ for living (albeit in a more luxurious, fun-filled, exciting and extreme world). So, while we learned lessons about men, relationships and friendships we were left in idle ignorance when it comes to dealing with our own families.
We meet Trey’s interfering mother and Steve’s annoying mother. I even have a vague recollection of someone’s mother (Miranda perhaps) dying during the series. But even from that episode, what I remember most is the support she gets from the girls, rather than the loss of a mother.
So, where are they the rest of the time? I mean, did Carrie even have parents? I don’t recall them offering support when she had been dumped by “Big” (again and again), or Aidan. Or any consideration of aging parents in her decision to move to Paris? What about the man who walked Charlotte down the aisle? Where was he during her stressful efforts to conceive a child and through her divorce?
So, I am intrigued. Where were their families? Carrie’s, Charlotte’s, Miranda’s or Samantha’s? We had the horror mother-in-laws, so what about the small-town mothers and fathers or siblings, not fitting into the girls’ NYC lives? A few embarrassing relatives wouldn’t have gone astray - but they are largely absent. Why I wonder? Is family not sexy enough for the city?
Did the four girls really emerge from their childhoods unscathed? What about some residual baggage? Sibling rivalries? Or even some backstories to fill in some of the blanks? After all, where did Samantha’s aversion to ‘love’ come from; and why was Charlotte such so desperate for Park Avenue and the perfect family?
Perhaps a prequel is called for?!
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
SATC - The early years
There are a number of good things about this house-sitting gig. Not just being away from the building site-that-is-my-home; the larder full of cooking stuff (like choc bits, which I will have to replace before I leave); the excuse that I am out of my routine and can’t exercise; but also having access to Pay TV.
My brother doesn’t have the movies’ or sports’ channels. The focus here is predominantly on all-things-Disney, for my niece (who has a bit of a thing for Avatar, Hannah Montana and some show about two boys who live in a hotel with their mother). So I am spending most of my waking (and tv-watching) hours in front of ARENA and reveling in repeats of Sex and the City, which appears to be on constantly and usually in no logical order. The other evening, for example, there were two episodes in a row. The first one was the actual pilot episode (circa 1998). The next was from Season Four.
Why I am glued to them I have no idea. I actually have all of the DVDs at my place. All six Seasons. I could go and pick them up. Or wait until I get home and watch them. But instead, I am strangely transfixed to the randomness with which they appear on ARENA. I have to admit, I had forgotten how many men Carrie and the girls went through over the years. Samantha aside, the other three constantly dated with a never-ending stream of men through their lives.
Is this why we liked it I wonder? Not just for the clothes and fashions – and to see what strange combination Carrie would next don (and even more amazingly, pull off). Or did we just envy their seemingly glamourous lives and the fact that they seemed to be constantly in demand by the men of New York.
Critics railed at the realism of the show and the fact that – in the real world – similar women would be hard pressed to afford their apartments, let alone the lifestyle they portrayed; their clothes, their Jimmy Choos and constant stream of visits to the ‘happening’ restaurants and bars of NYC.
But did we care? Hell no! Who cares if, in the real world, one pair of Manolo Blahnik’s would set Carrie back a year’s salary. Instead we all envied their fabulous lives. We all wanted to be them. And, we’ve all done the Facebook quiz, wondering which of the four girls we really are. I suspect we probably all wanted to be Carrie (around whom the SATC world revolves) and I think the Facebook doyenne believed me to be so, but I always felt more like Charlotte with a bit of Miranda thrown in. Sweet but cynical.
So, having been exposed to a veritable kaleidoscope of episodes in the past week, not only am I surprised at how little the women changed over the six seasons (yay for botox!), I am reminded of a few favourite moments (and seasons) and amazed at the things I had forgotten.
Very importantly, I had forgotten that in the first episodes (and perhaps a few to follow – I will have to check later) Carrie speaks to the camera and the show featured mock interviews, with little captions. So, it started as a faux-documentary. Watching it now, I cringe. I resolve to watch the first season to see when this changes - when the producers realized they needed to go with engaging storylines, supported by narration, rather than a thought piece with a one-dimensional supporting cast.
I had also forgotten that ‘Big’ appears in the first episode.
I have also seen the final two episodes in the last few days. I remember – like hordes of others – being disappointed at the final episode. Unhappy that, for a show about how it is okay to be single and alone, the four girls all ended up partnered off.
I recall that when it first came out in 1998, the show was a celebration of independence and of strong single women. So, while I sympathise with the producers’ desire for a happily-ever-after ending, it fell like a sell-out. Carrie’s move to Paris was very much about her fear of being the ‘last-one-standing’ and being alone, rather than following her heart, or even her head. Bringing in ‘Big’ at the last minute, seemed too contrived, with the producers obviously in a rush to wrap six-years up neatly, tie the bow and present it expectantly to adoring fans.
This aside, when I think of the show, I think of it being about relationships and most importantly, about friendships. The scene I most remember from the movie, for example, is Charlotte’s anger (in the street) at ‘Big’ after he failed to show at the wedding ceremony. Her distress for her friend felt real and devastated me more than Carrie being left at the altar. It made me wonder about selfless relationships where true love, loyalty and devotion are fundamental.
The episode I watched (The Agony and the Ex-tacy) after the pilot was about the girls attending an engagement party for a guy they had knew (and several slept with).
The episode was about finding your soulmate. I hadn’t remembered that the show had really articulated the level of desperation evidenced in that episode. Miranda faking happiness at her singleness and Carrie’s despair (after everyone missing her birthday celebration) at perhaps never finding her soulmate. It ended with the girls deciding they were each others’ soulmates and the guys that came along were just a bonus. A lovely sentiment – but in my self-styled Miranda-cynicism I wonder if they were saying the same thing several years later when they were all paired off.
I have another week of house-sitting so who knows what morsels are before me. Either way, it has given me a taste of a favourite-but-forgotten treat. My appetite whetted, I will have to pull out the DVDs when I get home.
Finally, another perplexing question. Whatever happened to Skipper?
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0159206/
My brother doesn’t have the movies’ or sports’ channels. The focus here is predominantly on all-things-Disney, for my niece (who has a bit of a thing for Avatar, Hannah Montana and some show about two boys who live in a hotel with their mother). So I am spending most of my waking (and tv-watching) hours in front of ARENA and reveling in repeats of Sex and the City, which appears to be on constantly and usually in no logical order. The other evening, for example, there were two episodes in a row. The first one was the actual pilot episode (circa 1998). The next was from Season Four.
Why I am glued to them I have no idea. I actually have all of the DVDs at my place. All six Seasons. I could go and pick them up. Or wait until I get home and watch them. But instead, I am strangely transfixed to the randomness with which they appear on ARENA. I have to admit, I had forgotten how many men Carrie and the girls went through over the years. Samantha aside, the other three constantly dated with a never-ending stream of men through their lives.
Is this why we liked it I wonder? Not just for the clothes and fashions – and to see what strange combination Carrie would next don (and even more amazingly, pull off). Or did we just envy their seemingly glamourous lives and the fact that they seemed to be constantly in demand by the men of New York.
Critics railed at the realism of the show and the fact that – in the real world – similar women would be hard pressed to afford their apartments, let alone the lifestyle they portrayed; their clothes, their Jimmy Choos and constant stream of visits to the ‘happening’ restaurants and bars of NYC.
But did we care? Hell no! Who cares if, in the real world, one pair of Manolo Blahnik’s would set Carrie back a year’s salary. Instead we all envied their fabulous lives. We all wanted to be them. And, we’ve all done the Facebook quiz, wondering which of the four girls we really are. I suspect we probably all wanted to be Carrie (around whom the SATC world revolves) and I think the Facebook doyenne believed me to be so, but I always felt more like Charlotte with a bit of Miranda thrown in. Sweet but cynical.
So, having been exposed to a veritable kaleidoscope of episodes in the past week, not only am I surprised at how little the women changed over the six seasons (yay for botox!), I am reminded of a few favourite moments (and seasons) and amazed at the things I had forgotten.
Very importantly, I had forgotten that in the first episodes (and perhaps a few to follow – I will have to check later) Carrie speaks to the camera and the show featured mock interviews, with little captions. So, it started as a faux-documentary. Watching it now, I cringe. I resolve to watch the first season to see when this changes - when the producers realized they needed to go with engaging storylines, supported by narration, rather than a thought piece with a one-dimensional supporting cast.
I had also forgotten that ‘Big’ appears in the first episode.
I have also seen the final two episodes in the last few days. I remember – like hordes of others – being disappointed at the final episode. Unhappy that, for a show about how it is okay to be single and alone, the four girls all ended up partnered off.
I recall that when it first came out in 1998, the show was a celebration of independence and of strong single women. So, while I sympathise with the producers’ desire for a happily-ever-after ending, it fell like a sell-out. Carrie’s move to Paris was very much about her fear of being the ‘last-one-standing’ and being alone, rather than following her heart, or even her head. Bringing in ‘Big’ at the last minute, seemed too contrived, with the producers obviously in a rush to wrap six-years up neatly, tie the bow and present it expectantly to adoring fans.
This aside, when I think of the show, I think of it being about relationships and most importantly, about friendships. The scene I most remember from the movie, for example, is Charlotte’s anger (in the street) at ‘Big’ after he failed to show at the wedding ceremony. Her distress for her friend felt real and devastated me more than Carrie being left at the altar. It made me wonder about selfless relationships where true love, loyalty and devotion are fundamental.
The episode I watched (The Agony and the Ex-tacy) after the pilot was about the girls attending an engagement party for a guy they had knew (and several slept with).
The episode was about finding your soulmate. I hadn’t remembered that the show had really articulated the level of desperation evidenced in that episode. Miranda faking happiness at her singleness and Carrie’s despair (after everyone missing her birthday celebration) at perhaps never finding her soulmate. It ended with the girls deciding they were each others’ soulmates and the guys that came along were just a bonus. A lovely sentiment – but in my self-styled Miranda-cynicism I wonder if they were saying the same thing several years later when they were all paired off.
I have another week of house-sitting so who knows what morsels are before me. Either way, it has given me a taste of a favourite-but-forgotten treat. My appetite whetted, I will have to pull out the DVDs when I get home.
Finally, another perplexing question. Whatever happened to Skipper?
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0159206/
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Singleton envy
One of my close friends recently did the unthinkable. Despite having been single for most of her adult life, she broke the code. It isn’t uncommon. It happens all of the time, but nonetheless, I was surprised when someone-who-knew-better did it.
Other people do it all of the time. My pilates instructor goes on about how lucky I am to have so much time to myself. She constantly tells me how much she envies my long baths and my reading. She warns me that having a child will mean I can’t do any of those things. Particularly if I become a single mother. She tells me that she wishes that she could sit and watch television or spend time reading. But she is too busy. Because she is a mother (and a partner). I just smile, but what I want to do is confront her with the fact that she is essentially saying she regrets having her son. I know she doesn’t as she is devoted to him. So I know if I did say something, she would respond that, of course she doesn’t resent him and tell me that he is the most important thing in her life. I know that she is just lashing out. Envious that I am my own boss and that my time is my own. I don’t get annoyed at her as she knows no better. She is someone who has always been in relationships. To her, being single for a year after her divorce (though she did have her son) was a long time. She doesn’t know any better.
I know that some of it comes down to ‘the grass is greener’ saga. As singletons, we dream of being in a relationship: being part of a couple; having someone who cares about you; who wants to hear about your day; and who is there for you, through good and bad, sickness and health etc etc.
Most of us spend our lives searching for someone to share it with. Despite what we say. When we are young we go to parties and pubs. We hope to get asked for a dance, our phone number, or to even share a taxi home. As we get older, we bemoan the lack of single men (or women) in our workplace, our office buildings, our suburb or even the city. We give up on bars and clubs, filled with women ten years our junior and for the men (our age) they attract. We try internet dating, speed dating, we even go on blind dates. We run out of friends to go out with. Everyone else becomes half of a couple. Not needing, or wanting to go out.
So, we lower our standards, tell ourselves that looks aren’t everything. We look less for Prince Charming and more for Prince Charles. In summary, we would go to almost any extreme to find ‘someone’. Not necessary ‘the one’, but ‘someone’ with whom to spend our lives. So we are no longer single; so we no longer have to keep looking.
So what exactly did this friend say, you may ask. How did she break the code? Simply put, she did one of those things that those-who-should-know-better, don’t do.
She wasn’t someone who settled down at 20 and no idea what it was like for the rest of us. She didn’t spend her 20s and 30s with a partner, smugly peering at the world outside.
Not at all. This friend was single until her mid 30s. Five years ago she suddenly fell for someone, got pregnant and married, then pregnant again; and again. She hasn’t wasted any time in bedding down her family. Before that, she went speed dating, went to pubs and despaired of ever meeting the ‘one’. She worried about getting older and not having had kids. Like many of my friends, she became (subtly and in a way that most won’t admit) more desperate to meet someone.
And I am happy for her. While (inevitably) I don’t see her much anymore, she has remained one of my best friends. We have a long history. Which was why I was surprised when she broke the code. After all, she knew better.
We were talking about my Friday night. I had gotten home from work, opened a bottle of wine and taken it to the bath, along with chocolate and a book and remained ensconced there for the night. My friend said, ‘You lucky thing. I envy you. I wish I could do that, but with hubby and the kids I would never be able to do it.’
I was shocked. She should know better. I expect those sort of comments only from those who haven’t experienced long-term singledom. I shuddered to think that a long-term singleton could become a ‘smug-married’ (to quote Bridget Jones!).
In an unusual move for me (though I find I am speaking my mind more and more nowadays) I said to her that she should know better. I said that if I had a choice, I would prefer to be cooking dinner for a lazy husband and screaming kids than spending Friday night alone. Instead, I was left to read my 5th book for the week, binge on chocolate and get pissed in the bath, because my friends are all in relationships and busy and there is absolutely nothing on television. I reminded her that she (having spent many nights and weekends alone) should remember what that was like.
I may never be in a relationship or have a family. But, if by some miracle I have those things, I can only pray I am not one of those people who turns to single friends and tells them how fortunate they are that they aren’t responsible to, or for, anyone else. Or how I envy them and their self-indulgent lives. I hope I can remember how alone it can be when you have had a bad day and have no one to talk to; to cry to, or with; no one to tell you that it is okay and that you are okay. I hope I remember that single people ultimately only have themselves: their own coping mechanisms; and their own tenacity. I hope I envy them that, not the long baths.
Other people do it all of the time. My pilates instructor goes on about how lucky I am to have so much time to myself. She constantly tells me how much she envies my long baths and my reading. She warns me that having a child will mean I can’t do any of those things. Particularly if I become a single mother. She tells me that she wishes that she could sit and watch television or spend time reading. But she is too busy. Because she is a mother (and a partner). I just smile, but what I want to do is confront her with the fact that she is essentially saying she regrets having her son. I know she doesn’t as she is devoted to him. So I know if I did say something, she would respond that, of course she doesn’t resent him and tell me that he is the most important thing in her life. I know that she is just lashing out. Envious that I am my own boss and that my time is my own. I don’t get annoyed at her as she knows no better. She is someone who has always been in relationships. To her, being single for a year after her divorce (though she did have her son) was a long time. She doesn’t know any better.
I know that some of it comes down to ‘the grass is greener’ saga. As singletons, we dream of being in a relationship: being part of a couple; having someone who cares about you; who wants to hear about your day; and who is there for you, through good and bad, sickness and health etc etc.
Most of us spend our lives searching for someone to share it with. Despite what we say. When we are young we go to parties and pubs. We hope to get asked for a dance, our phone number, or to even share a taxi home. As we get older, we bemoan the lack of single men (or women) in our workplace, our office buildings, our suburb or even the city. We give up on bars and clubs, filled with women ten years our junior and for the men (our age) they attract. We try internet dating, speed dating, we even go on blind dates. We run out of friends to go out with. Everyone else becomes half of a couple. Not needing, or wanting to go out.
So, we lower our standards, tell ourselves that looks aren’t everything. We look less for Prince Charming and more for Prince Charles. In summary, we would go to almost any extreme to find ‘someone’. Not necessary ‘the one’, but ‘someone’ with whom to spend our lives. So we are no longer single; so we no longer have to keep looking.
So what exactly did this friend say, you may ask. How did she break the code? Simply put, she did one of those things that those-who-should-know-better, don’t do.
She wasn’t someone who settled down at 20 and no idea what it was like for the rest of us. She didn’t spend her 20s and 30s with a partner, smugly peering at the world outside.
Not at all. This friend was single until her mid 30s. Five years ago she suddenly fell for someone, got pregnant and married, then pregnant again; and again. She hasn’t wasted any time in bedding down her family. Before that, she went speed dating, went to pubs and despaired of ever meeting the ‘one’. She worried about getting older and not having had kids. Like many of my friends, she became (subtly and in a way that most won’t admit) more desperate to meet someone.
And I am happy for her. While (inevitably) I don’t see her much anymore, she has remained one of my best friends. We have a long history. Which was why I was surprised when she broke the code. After all, she knew better.
We were talking about my Friday night. I had gotten home from work, opened a bottle of wine and taken it to the bath, along with chocolate and a book and remained ensconced there for the night. My friend said, ‘You lucky thing. I envy you. I wish I could do that, but with hubby and the kids I would never be able to do it.’
I was shocked. She should know better. I expect those sort of comments only from those who haven’t experienced long-term singledom. I shuddered to think that a long-term singleton could become a ‘smug-married’ (to quote Bridget Jones!).
In an unusual move for me (though I find I am speaking my mind more and more nowadays) I said to her that she should know better. I said that if I had a choice, I would prefer to be cooking dinner for a lazy husband and screaming kids than spending Friday night alone. Instead, I was left to read my 5th book for the week, binge on chocolate and get pissed in the bath, because my friends are all in relationships and busy and there is absolutely nothing on television. I reminded her that she (having spent many nights and weekends alone) should remember what that was like.
I may never be in a relationship or have a family. But, if by some miracle I have those things, I can only pray I am not one of those people who turns to single friends and tells them how fortunate they are that they aren’t responsible to, or for, anyone else. Or how I envy them and their self-indulgent lives. I hope I can remember how alone it can be when you have had a bad day and have no one to talk to; to cry to, or with; no one to tell you that it is okay and that you are okay. I hope I remember that single people ultimately only have themselves: their own coping mechanisms; and their own tenacity. I hope I envy them that, not the long baths.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Breaking up…
Is hard to do – or so the song goes. But what if you aren’t breaking up with a lover? What if you have to break up with someone else. Someone for whom you feel some sort of commitment or loyalty. Is that any different? Or is it any easier?
These are questions I am pondering, because I need to break up with someone. My hairdresser.
I feel quite a lot of angst about this because my hairdresser, Susan*, has been with me for a while now.
Don’t get me wrong though… I am no stranger to playing the field. I am no lilly-livered innocent. I have strayed before.
Several years ago, Susan and her husband moved away, and I loyally remained at the salon for a while before tiring of the constant turnover of staff. Fortunately for me at the time, her absence meant I didn’t feel traitorous when I moved to a handier trendy inner-city salon. Priced similarly to the old place, it came with a lot of bonuses – fabulous robes, great food, alcohol and a few minor celebrities. However, it was almost impossible to get into – even weeks in advance – and I have to admit, I didn’t feel sufficiently important enough to be remembered from visit to visit and often felt like I was supposed to be grateful to be allowed to even set foot in the door.
So, I decided I would find somewhere closer to my home and less expensive. There were a few hits and misses before I found a great place nearby that cost about half that of the earlier hairdressers.
I went there for almost two years. It was fairly small, but I appreciated the price and proximity. I ended up pretty much sticking to one hairdresser, who was good, though every time I left the salon he styled my hair in some frumpy middle-aged type bob. Despite my pleading each time, he kept doing it. Finally, on what became my last visit, I sat there and realised that he was pretty much just humouring me – feigning interest in my life. I know that for him it was just a job but I realised that he was actually the sort of guy who wasn’t terribly interested in what anyone else wanted or thought.
In the meantime I had received a letter and text message from my original hairdresser that my much-beloved Susan had returned. So, I decided that I would as well.
It was wonderful. As I opened the door bright and early that Saturday morning, she greeted me like a long-lost friend. Each time I visit she recalls what I said the previous visit and remembers aspects of my life – as I do hers. Now I am pretty sure she is like that with everyone (and I have in fact seen her in action), but it makes me feel ‘welcomed’ and comfortable with her. With her there, I belong. So what is my dilemma, you may ask?
For more than one year now, my hair has been very short. This means I have to visit the salon every 4-6 weeks and frankly – the hundreds of dollars it costs can sometimes be a bit of a strain and is a bit hard to justify as others tighten their belts. So, despite my feelings of loyalty and devotion to Susan, I need to break up with her. I need to go somewhere else!
I know the options seems obvious. I can: 1) let her know that I am going elsewhere and why (and I am sure she would understand; or 2) just go elsewhere and hope I don’t run into her at some point in the future (and live with the guilt!).
Easy really – cos obviously I would take option 2. But – and herein lies my problem – I don’t actually want to leave her.
The guy I disliked from the nearby (cheaper) place has since gone. I know I someone else there could probably to do as good a job as Susan. But, will I find someone who makes me feel as welcome, as appreciated and as loved.
So, this is what it all boils down to. While there is some loyalty and guilt at stake, I am dazzled by Susan’s effusive greetings and seemingly caring and attentive manner. The big question is – will I choose that sense of belonging, that attention, over my hip-pocket?
* Name changed to protect the innocent
These are questions I am pondering, because I need to break up with someone. My hairdresser.
I feel quite a lot of angst about this because my hairdresser, Susan*, has been with me for a while now.
Don’t get me wrong though… I am no stranger to playing the field. I am no lilly-livered innocent. I have strayed before.
Several years ago, Susan and her husband moved away, and I loyally remained at the salon for a while before tiring of the constant turnover of staff. Fortunately for me at the time, her absence meant I didn’t feel traitorous when I moved to a handier trendy inner-city salon. Priced similarly to the old place, it came with a lot of bonuses – fabulous robes, great food, alcohol and a few minor celebrities. However, it was almost impossible to get into – even weeks in advance – and I have to admit, I didn’t feel sufficiently important enough to be remembered from visit to visit and often felt like I was supposed to be grateful to be allowed to even set foot in the door.
So, I decided I would find somewhere closer to my home and less expensive. There were a few hits and misses before I found a great place nearby that cost about half that of the earlier hairdressers.
I went there for almost two years. It was fairly small, but I appreciated the price and proximity. I ended up pretty much sticking to one hairdresser, who was good, though every time I left the salon he styled my hair in some frumpy middle-aged type bob. Despite my pleading each time, he kept doing it. Finally, on what became my last visit, I sat there and realised that he was pretty much just humouring me – feigning interest in my life. I know that for him it was just a job but I realised that he was actually the sort of guy who wasn’t terribly interested in what anyone else wanted or thought.
In the meantime I had received a letter and text message from my original hairdresser that my much-beloved Susan had returned. So, I decided that I would as well.
It was wonderful. As I opened the door bright and early that Saturday morning, she greeted me like a long-lost friend. Each time I visit she recalls what I said the previous visit and remembers aspects of my life – as I do hers. Now I am pretty sure she is like that with everyone (and I have in fact seen her in action), but it makes me feel ‘welcomed’ and comfortable with her. With her there, I belong. So what is my dilemma, you may ask?
For more than one year now, my hair has been very short. This means I have to visit the salon every 4-6 weeks and frankly – the hundreds of dollars it costs can sometimes be a bit of a strain and is a bit hard to justify as others tighten their belts. So, despite my feelings of loyalty and devotion to Susan, I need to break up with her. I need to go somewhere else!
I know the options seems obvious. I can: 1) let her know that I am going elsewhere and why (and I am sure she would understand; or 2) just go elsewhere and hope I don’t run into her at some point in the future (and live with the guilt!).
Easy really – cos obviously I would take option 2. But – and herein lies my problem – I don’t actually want to leave her.
The guy I disliked from the nearby (cheaper) place has since gone. I know I someone else there could probably to do as good a job as Susan. But, will I find someone who makes me feel as welcome, as appreciated and as loved.
So, this is what it all boils down to. While there is some loyalty and guilt at stake, I am dazzled by Susan’s effusive greetings and seemingly caring and attentive manner. The big question is – will I choose that sense of belonging, that attention, over my hip-pocket?
* Name changed to protect the innocent
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)