Third Wheel

There are a few things I’m good at, and quite a few at which I’m not so great. I make a fantastic pumpkin loaf, have excellent taste in scented candles and possess a natural instinct for when a show will be cancelled. Survivor is my next bet. The list of things at which I am not so accomplished - well, this isn’t the day for that particular list. But if there is one accomplishment I have mastered it is this - I am an excellent third wheel. Impressive, no?
You may ask, who in their right mind would want to master such a lost art? Well, I’ll tell you. Some of us who have remained single for an almost obscene amount of time need to integrate. Girls nights are fun, and giggly and full of wine and cheese and all of that, but they’re limited. Eventually, especially if you move in tiny social circles as I do myself, you must learn to ingratiate yourself with the male of the species. Not that that proves to be terribly hard. A six pack and a dvd of the Die Hard trilogy seem to be universally welcome. And don’t boss them. Or complain about your ex-husband. But to be a welcome addition to a couple - it requires finesse, my friend.
You can’t seem too clingy to either male or female. Or dominate the conversation - or seem like a victim. It isn’t the same as going out with a few girlfriends - there is an instant resentment that you must beat down with wit and charm. And choose your ‘dates’ carefully. No Friday nights, because that’s real date night. No New Year’s Eve, because that’s sad (believe me, I know.). Obviously no Valentine’s Day, but I tend to be busy eating a lot of fine chocolate and drinking a lot of cheap wine that night. I recently had to attend a family wedding with a couple - not because there wasn’t a date of my own to be had, but because I would not subject a virtual stranger to such a McGuire-dense event. It would scare away the normals. The three of us ended up sharing a hotel room - not in a dirty way - so that meant that my friend and I were able to get ready together, laughing and primping like we did when we were girls and needed much less primping. And her adorable husband lay on his bed smiling, enjoying this rare glimpse into the secret life of girl-talk.
What on earth is the appeal for the man in all of this? Well, said husband told me that night, actually, that it was an ego boost. He said that he gets to take two beautiful women to the wedding (he lies a lot) and that we are both in such good moods that we’re more fun to be around. And when the two girls are up dancing like fools and drinking too much wine, he gets to be the white knight and rescue us both from ourselves. I don’t quite understand the appeal of that one, but then again I’m not a man. Personally, I suspect it also has something to do with the attention. Whenever I’m out with a girlfriend and her husband, every little kindness is amplified and praised. Like a precious only chid of two doting parents. When he holds the door for us, fetches a glass of wine, gallantly offers to pay for dinner, we both smile and say thank you, and isn’t it nice that chivalry, in fact, is not dead? Also, our conversations are different from the ones he probably has with his friends. With us, he can talk about his emotionally unavailable father, or his upcoming knee surgery or his Christmas list. He gets to be ‘one of the girls’ for the night.
As for me? Well, it’s a way of staying connected to the opposite sex. I have no room in my life for dating, and sons who need a male perspective every now and again. Here I can ask away about hockey and baseball and video games. Without any extra baggage attached for now. Ain’t life grand?