One of my fellow writers recently told me that I should write about happy relationships, the hits instead of the misses (or in my case, the misters). If I had a healthy and awesomely rewarding relationship and wrote about it, would I be able to write a column about dating? No.
And by the way, I did write a piece about Jerry and Addie a while back, that proverbial Hallmark couple who met online, got married, and are living happily ever after. It wasn’t MY relationship, but it’s a happy one. Does that count?
Do people really want to know that someone else is blessed and blissful, or does misery really love company? And how would I keep my edge on? Are happy relationships even funny?
What gets the most air play and arouses the most curiosity and interest? Be honest now.
“Do you KNOW what my boyfriend did, that cheatin’, lyin’ bastard?” or “Wasn’t my honey so sweet to bring me roses the other day?”
I walked by a gal sitting on a bench downtown recently. She was talking on the phone, and she asked the person on the other end the proverbial, rhetorical question, “They can’t ALL be &^%$^*$, can they?”
And I have to admit, I wanted to say, “Scoonch over. I want to know more!”
We just seem to enjoy reading and hearing about the misery and heartbreak of others. We just want to know.
And if we can laugh at someone else’s misfortune, it’s all the better. Maybe someone else has worse problems than we do. We try not to pick up the tabloid at the checkstand, but our idle little paws have to grab it up. We know it probably isn’t true, but we want to know the details anyway. And sometimes it IS true and Jesse James really is a jerk who cheated on Sandra Bullock, which brings me to my next point of rumination. Might we EXPECT misery and bad endings? Were we waiting for Jesse to screw up?
I remember having a friend who would be there for me when I was crying over a guy. She would bring me a drink and sit there and listen to me whine for hours, but when things were going well, she didn’t want to hear it because HER man wasn’t treating her right or maybe she didn’t have one at the time. Or maybe my stories were more interesting when I was dating bozos. But, as no-luck would have it, my foul-weather buddy soon had the opportunity to wipe my tears and bandage my bruised little ego again, which seemed to give her life meaning and pleasure.
Not all of my relationships have been horrid and heartbreaking. But in retrospect, those are the ones that are now the most humorous and memorable to me. Admitting my mistakes and missteps is like miraculously healing from a life-threatening illness and it has to be a lot more entertaining for my readers, plus they get to call me a ditz or better yet, see themselves in me. And our commonality brings us a little closer and reminds us that we really are just one big, silly, misery-lovin’ tribe.
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Robyn Justo is a freelance writer who is experienced, but by no means an expert, on the frustrations, triumphs, and general hysteria of single life. “The Expiration Date” addresses the lighter side of living, dating, and just getting through the day. The names have been changed to protect the innocent (and the guilty). Please feel free to contact her directly at: robynjusto@aol.com.
