First Person Singular by Wendy Braitman

Blind Date from Hell, circa 2007

It’s staggering that this conversation could have taken place in the 21st century, but it did. I’m an eyewitness.

He:             Have you ever been married?
Me:             No (looking sheepish). Never.
He:             So you’re a loser, just like me.

Being Single and Rides to the Airport

For a recent trip to New York, I scheduled the taxi pickup at 5:30 AM. I wouldn’t dream of asking a soul–not even if I had a beloved spouse, or a lover in the first sparks of romance–to drive me to the airport that early. Since I started traveling for business years ago, I’d used up the good will of friends. So I stopped asking, even when the airport favor would have taken place at a reasonable time.

Towards the end of my father’s life, the plane trips to see him in Florida were harrowing. Back at LAX, I would wait in a long taxi line, and then the driver always seemed to need step-by-step instructions to my house, so I couldn’t relax. I would have given a lot for someone I loved with a comfortable sedan, and maybe a happy dog on the seat, wagging her tail when she spotted me outside the baggage claim area, to pick me up.

On that final journey home after my father died, my plane arrived hours late. We just hovered in the air, as if to say the nightmare of my father’s illness and death and packing up his life, would never end. And then the luggage didn’t come. I was desperate to collapse into the arms of a comfortable friend, so I asked for that. I was elated, if elation could be eked out at such a sad time, when my dearest friend William was at the curb, with his fluffy white dog, waiting for me.

(Photo: my beautiful dog, Rose.)

I am my own Wife*

Gloria Steinem famously said, “some of us are becoming the men we want to marry.” I would add to that – some of us are becoming our own wives. 

• Make sure the martini glasses are chilled
• Keep well stocked on ibuprofen
• Floss daily
• Have takeout menus close at hand
• Treat myself seasonally to new colors of lipstick
• Exercise regularly
• Stay hydrated

Continue reading »

The World’s Wife

Carol Ann Duffy was named the new Poet Laureate of Britain on May 1st.  She is the first woman to be appointed in the 341 year history of the post. Mrs. Darwin (the poem below) is from her 1999 collection, The World’s Wife, which also includes Mrs. Rip Van Winkle, Mrs. Icarus, Frau Freud and Queen Kong.

MRS DARWIN

7 April 1852
Went to the Zoo
I said to him — Something about that Chimpanzee over there
reminds me of you

Is There a Difference between a Spinster and a Confirmed Bachelor?

Reading articles about David Souter’s retirement from the Supreme Court, I was fascinated to learn that he’s a “confirmed bachelor.”  I wonder how this biographical detail would play out in the media, if we were talking about a never-married woman. Would there be a difference?

(this image is from a magnet, available for sale.)

What I learned as a Waitress

I used to work at a restaurant revered in San Francisco food circles. I loved being a waiter. (Waitress was not a word we used.) The shifts were short, the crowds lively, the cash plentiful. My middle class parents pouted, envisioning me in a white-collar job instead of one demanding an apron. But in this restaurant, waiters held court, and I grew sophisticated because it was required of me. Continue reading »

Are There Happy Foods?

I had a gooey chocolate chip cookie for breakfast today. It’s one of my happy foods, as is garlic pizza, baked potatoes with sour cream, and my number one happy food, Spaghetti with Bolognese Meat Sauce. Continue reading »

Bitter: Table for One? Not Tonight

–from “Observations of a Spinster,” New York Times, 1905

I think it should be better if my family would openly admit that they consider me a disgrace. I could combat that, but the implied disapproval conveyed in a hundred unconscious ways gets upon my nerves. There is my married sister, for instance. No one ever pays attention to her little spasms of temper. But when I indulge in a little elemental behavior of a similar sort it’s a very different thing. More than once I have surprised my loved ones exchanging a long-suffering aggrieved look-and I do not need to go to a lexicon to interpret it. It means, “What a crank Bertha is getting to be!

A few years ago after a nasty breakup, a friend living in San Francisco’s Mission District, bought a BMW. This was big news. San Franciscans don’t care much for prestige cars and a BMW is considered a little vulgar. In his new car, B– was meticulous about his driving habits. At a four way stop, he would wait patiently until everyone drove through, even when he arrived first. He switched lanes only after exhaustively checking to make sure no one would feel cut off. He relinquished parking spots if there was the slightest competition. B– didn’t want to feed the conventional wisdom that he was a jerk and a showoff. BMW drivers in San Francisco are not given the benefit of the doubt.

Up the hill, two women whom I admire, who are politically and socially sophisticated just assume their daughters will marry. One evening, we fold napkins together, and set them out on the long oak table for dinner. They banter about the kind of men their daughters will end up with. “He’ll be an artist with no money, but she’ll insist on a big wedding,” one says with nervous laughter. “I’m sure Kate will marry a social worker,” the other responds, “and they’ll end up living in Guatemala.”

Inside my head, a voice stirs: “Don’t you know, not everyone marries?” But I don’t say it out loud because we’re having a pleasant time, and I’m afraid to get branded as bitter. I imagine their retort. “Just because it didn’t work out for you, doesn’t mean it won’t happen to everyone else.” I can’t bear to hear that, not tonight, and I keep my mouth shut.

Women Who Knew How to Rough It

These cowgirls–Ben Kirnan, Prairie Rose, Mable Strickland, Princis Mohawk, Ruth Roach, Kittie Canutt and Prairie Little–were well-known participants in rodeo events in Oregon. (I’ll take those boots third from the right.) Photographed in 1921 by Ralph Russell Doubleday.

I {Heart} My Wife

I {Heart} My Wife
by Darlyn Finch from her book Red Wax Rose

“I {Heart} My Wife”
the bumper sticker read
in the window of the pickup truck
ahead of me at the red light,
and I burst into tears
for no particular reason
I could explain
to the crossing guard on the corner
or even to the man driving the truck,
who looked quite ordinary,
and did not realize
those four happy words
could rip a woman’s heart out
under certain circumstances,
when she’s one man’s abscessed tooth,
and another’s dirty little secret.

Then I stopped to wonder,
as I blew my nose
and wiped my eyes,
whether the man had bought the bumper sticker
at all, or if his wife had perhaps
stuck it there,
in the window behind his head,
as a message to women like me,
whom she surely knows are sitting
at every red light
in every town,
wishing they could one day be
someone’s
very best thing.