No Parking for U-Hauls

Lesbian bed death. It’s what we ladies looking for love fear when coupling with a lady friend. We start hot and heavy and then the roar of the fire dies down to a low flame and then eventually the embers cool until nothing is left but ash. Fire to ash in about 6 months. Why does this happen? Is it inevitable? Is it just a girl-thing?

We all know the old joke “What does a lesbian bring on a second date? A U-Haul.” How is it that this joke has come to define lesbian relationships? It’s not that funny. It’s certainly not as funny as “What did one lesbian frog say to the other lesbian frog? You’re right! It does taste just like chicken.” The U-Haul joke has withstood the test of time because girls rush in. They want more than love. They want security. I’m referring to “they” because I no longer feel that I fall into this camp. My U-Haul days are behind me, thankfully. The U-Haul lesbians are the girls who would rather dive into a relationship than suffer life without a partner. I don’t judge-been there, done that. I’m just happy that I made it to the other side and only have a few, small scars to show for it.

This need for security is evident when couples stay together for 3 years or more even though they know the relationship should have ended after 6 months. They know it in their hearts, but they are frozen in this perceived state of safety. They master the art of justification until they are convinced that this relationship is healthy and right. Did I touch a nerve? Too close to home? To all my lady friends out there who recognize themselves in that description-it’s always best to rip the band-aid (plaster) right off. Slowly peeling it off, ripping out hair by hair, is far more painful in the end. But my point was not to discuss first-aid. I’m calling attention to the fact that we must not confuse love with security.

Gabriella and I participated in a day-long workshop with celebrated psychotherapist and relationship counsellor, Esther Perel, author of Mating in Captivity: Reconciling the Erotic with the Domestic. The workshop was sponsored by our mothers group, MOMentum. We wanted to support our group, get a relationship tune-up and, most importantly, spend the day together without the littles. We accomplished all three. We dropped the boys off with Gabriella’s sisters the night before the workshop and spent the evening with friends in the city. Thai food, wine, music and our girls. Pure joy.

I could tell you all about what I learned about our relationship, but this is where you meet the pit of my peach and I say, “None of your business”. Suffice it to say, we learned loads and we continue to figure it all out the more we discuss the day. We didn’t leave with a handbook on “spicing up your marriage” or reviews of vibrating toys. This was an academic experience where we were challenged to change the perceptions we have of our partners and ourselves and take responsibility for the roles we have created. And how I enjoyed being challenged by this stylish, smart Belgian in high-heeled boots. Hey, if you’ve got to be stuck in a room with someone for an entire day, it doesn’t hurt that she happens to be hot. Ah, and here’s the lesson sneaking up on us while I tell you about the Belgian who was easy on the eyes.

Why is she hot? Yes, she’s attractive, but beauty alone does not elicit desire. She’s hot because I don’t know her. She is a mystery. I see only the surface. I like what I see – intelligence, impeccable style- and I am intrigued. That’s where it ends for me as a married gal. But in other instances of intrigue where both parties are willing, the dance begins. It’s that dance you do when you’re getting to know someone for the first time. It’s electrifying because you could be rejected at any turn. You succumb to desire and muffle the voice crying out for safety. You take the risk and it’s exciting. And if you’re lucky, you fall in love and enjoy the comforts of a committed relationship with your best friend and confidant. The dance is over. And desire? According to Esther, desire exists in separation and in insecurity. How can there be insecurity with your best friend?

Gabriella and I are best friends, partners for life. We know each other like the back of our hands. Such an odd expression. Is the back of my hand the body part I know best? If I were presented with 100 photos of backs of hands, would I be able to pick mine out without fail? Every now and then, I’ll ask Gabriella if she thinks she’d be able to pick out my tush in a line-up of 100 tushes. She ignores me. I think she could. Point being, there is little we don’t know about each other. We trust each other entirely. Safe. Secure. Doomed? I think I should take a lover to spice things up-to foster separation and uncertainty. Gabriella disagrees. Apparently, there are other ways to rekindle that spark with your partner of many years without having to take a lover.

Here is where I leave you, my friends. It would be irresponsible of me to hand you answers. It’s not that simple. Every relationship is different. There is no Cosmo Top 10 list of Things To Do. You must figure it out yourself, grasshoppers. Read Esther’s book. Visit her website. Know that all is not lost. In the meantime, I might insist that Gabriella start learning Flemish.