Thursday - Girl Watching
Jun. 8th, 2006 03:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermoreToday on my drive into work, I was thinking about a lesson I learned from my parents growing up about jealousy and how pointless it is.
When I was growing up, my parents walked everywhere hand in hand. Out of my peers in the 70's, I was one of the few kids I knew who's parents were still married and still happy. I had friends whose parents were still together, but most of them didn't carry on the way my parents did, holding hands and kissing and each telling the other that they were loved several times a day and at the end of each phone call. It's not that they never argued; sometimes they would have shouting matches that seemed to last for hours. Their tiffs never lasted for days or weeks the way other couples seemed to. They had a firm policy of settling their differences before they went to sleep, even if it meant they had to stay awake all night talking. These were all very good lessons for me, but they aren't what this post is about.
They also had a habit that I have since learned was unusual. When they were walking hand in hand and a pretty woman passed by, my mother would comment, "There's an attractive gal," and my father, while holding hands with my mom, would turn his head and watch the pretty woman as she passed them. Once he was done, he would turn back to my mother and continue whatever their conversation was.
I asked her about this once.
"Men just like to look at pretty girls," she told me with a shrug, "As long as your father is holding my hand and coming home to me, he can look all he wants. It seems to make him happy."
It worked both ways, too. Once when I was hospitalized as a little girl, my mother ate lunch in the hospital cafeteria with three nurses she had struck up a conversation with. Two of the nurses were women and one was a man. She joked to the three of them that she was just going to tell my father that she had lunch with a good-looking young man that day. One of the female nurses exclaimed that she wouldn't dare tell her husband something like that, because he would hit the roof.
"That's about the silliest thing I've ever heard," my mother said when she told me the story, "People should trust each other. If you don't trust who you're married to, I doubt you really trust anyone."
My parents did trust each other, and my father held her hand almost until the very end. Almost. I overheard him tell my second oldest brother that it was her sister who held her hand when she died. My father, my oldest brother and my aunt were all with her when the monitors attached to her started to beep and she gasped for her last breath. My father instinctively knew what happening and he stepped outside of the room because he couldn't bear to watch. The hand she held for 28 years slipped away in the last 30 seconds before she flatlined. For several years, I was angry at him for this, until I accepted that we all have limits to what we can take and that my father reached his at that moment.
* * *
I have carried on their girl-watching tradition in my own marriage. I point out pretty women to Jeff and he watches them as they walk by. Still, I'm not always as confident as my mother and sometimes I get catty about them.
"Do you think those are real?" I might ask. "I don't." He is one of those men who objects to breast implants on principal.
"I think they are," Jeff said on one occasion, "See, they're round and curvy, but she's curvy like that all over. If she were really skinny, I'd say they were fake."
I squinted at the woman in question. We were eating at a restaurant in Austin and she was talking to a group of her friends in the bar area.
"She's curvy," I said, "But the rest of her isn't quite as curvy as her chest is. I still say they're suspect. Why don't you go ask her and we can clear this whole thing up?"
"I'm not asking her. I think they're real, and that's good enough for me. You go ask her if you want to."
"Nah," I said, "It doesn't really matter. You know why?"
"Why?"
"Because mine are real."
I smiled at him, and he smiled back.
"Yes they are," he agreed, "and nice, too."
"Thank you," I said.
That was that. Was the girl prettier than me? Actually, yes, by far. Were her tomatoes homegrown or store bought? It didn't matter, because the whole exchange was fun and games, an ongoing joke between us. I know that men are visually oriented creatures, and asking them not to be is futile. I also trust Jeff, and when I'm with him I feel beautiful. Him watching another woman walk by doesn't make me feel any less beautiful. He can look all he wants to, so long as he holds my hand and goes home with me. I'll keep an eye out for any scenic views he might enjoy and wouldn't want to miss.
We finished our dinner and walked out of the restaurant hand in hand, the same way we always do.
* * *
When I was growing up, my parents walked everywhere hand in hand. Out of my peers in the 70's, I was one of the few kids I knew who's parents were still married and still happy. I had friends whose parents were still together, but most of them didn't carry on the way my parents did, holding hands and kissing and each telling the other that they were loved several times a day and at the end of each phone call. It's not that they never argued; sometimes they would have shouting matches that seemed to last for hours. Their tiffs never lasted for days or weeks the way other couples seemed to. They had a firm policy of settling their differences before they went to sleep, even if it meant they had to stay awake all night talking. These were all very good lessons for me, but they aren't what this post is about.
They also had a habit that I have since learned was unusual. When they were walking hand in hand and a pretty woman passed by, my mother would comment, "There's an attractive gal," and my father, while holding hands with my mom, would turn his head and watch the pretty woman as she passed them. Once he was done, he would turn back to my mother and continue whatever their conversation was.
I asked her about this once.
"Men just like to look at pretty girls," she told me with a shrug, "As long as your father is holding my hand and coming home to me, he can look all he wants. It seems to make him happy."
It worked both ways, too. Once when I was hospitalized as a little girl, my mother ate lunch in the hospital cafeteria with three nurses she had struck up a conversation with. Two of the nurses were women and one was a man. She joked to the three of them that she was just going to tell my father that she had lunch with a good-looking young man that day. One of the female nurses exclaimed that she wouldn't dare tell her husband something like that, because he would hit the roof.
"That's about the silliest thing I've ever heard," my mother said when she told me the story, "People should trust each other. If you don't trust who you're married to, I doubt you really trust anyone."
My parents did trust each other, and my father held her hand almost until the very end. Almost. I overheard him tell my second oldest brother that it was her sister who held her hand when she died. My father, my oldest brother and my aunt were all with her when the monitors attached to her started to beep and she gasped for her last breath. My father instinctively knew what happening and he stepped outside of the room because he couldn't bear to watch. The hand she held for 28 years slipped away in the last 30 seconds before she flatlined. For several years, I was angry at him for this, until I accepted that we all have limits to what we can take and that my father reached his at that moment.
I have carried on their girl-watching tradition in my own marriage. I point out pretty women to Jeff and he watches them as they walk by. Still, I'm not always as confident as my mother and sometimes I get catty about them.
"Do you think those are real?" I might ask. "I don't." He is one of those men who objects to breast implants on principal.
"I think they are," Jeff said on one occasion, "See, they're round and curvy, but she's curvy like that all over. If she were really skinny, I'd say they were fake."
I squinted at the woman in question. We were eating at a restaurant in Austin and she was talking to a group of her friends in the bar area.
"She's curvy," I said, "But the rest of her isn't quite as curvy as her chest is. I still say they're suspect. Why don't you go ask her and we can clear this whole thing up?"
"I'm not asking her. I think they're real, and that's good enough for me. You go ask her if you want to."
"Nah," I said, "It doesn't really matter. You know why?"
"Why?"
"Because mine are real."
I smiled at him, and he smiled back.
"Yes they are," he agreed, "and nice, too."
"Thank you," I said.
That was that. Was the girl prettier than me? Actually, yes, by far. Were her tomatoes homegrown or store bought? It didn't matter, because the whole exchange was fun and games, an ongoing joke between us. I know that men are visually oriented creatures, and asking them not to be is futile. I also trust Jeff, and when I'm with him I feel beautiful. Him watching another woman walk by doesn't make me feel any less beautiful. He can look all he wants to, so long as he holds my hand and goes home with me. I'll keep an eye out for any scenic views he might enjoy and wouldn't want to miss.
We finished our dinner and walked out of the restaurant hand in hand, the same way we always do.
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I also trust
Date: 2006-06-08 08:39 pm (UTC)Re: I also trust
Date: 2006-06-08 09:45 pm (UTC)any relationship
Date: 2006-06-08 09:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-08 08:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-08 09:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-08 09:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-08 09:43 pm (UTC)Since he claims to like imperfect woman, I must be his dream come true. ;P
no subject
Date: 2006-06-08 10:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-09 03:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-09 01:29 am (UTC)Very nice.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-09 03:20 pm (UTC)Sadly for the LJ-reading public, our lives are not as dramatic as those who are involved with people they lust after but don't like as human beings and that they trust about as far as they can pick up and throw them.
Glad you enjoyed it. :)
no subject
Date: 2006-06-09 02:45 am (UTC)I myself like to look at pretty things, men and women both. I wouldn't think it "wrong" if my partner happened to take a look too. Pretty things are pretty things, but there's no one like my boy and I know he feels the same about me. Love is lovely. :)
no subject
Date: 2006-06-09 03:22 pm (UTC)Isn't, though?
no subject
Date: 2006-06-09 03:30 am (UTC)And that's all that matters...
no subject
Date: 2006-06-09 03:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-09 03:08 pm (UTC)Whenever we watch TV, and an attractive man is on, Dan asks me if I think he's hot. It's so irritating, because I never do that to him. Recently I started asking him about attractive women on TV, if he would "do them" etc, and he got the hint and stopped bugging me.
As for the implants, my Mom has them, and it's so disappointing.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-09 03:30 pm (UTC)I guess I write about her to keep her alive for me, to keep a little bit of her in this world for me to hold onto.
Dan sounds a little insecure. Of course people on TV are good looking, that's why they are on TV. Sheesh.
I don't object to all implants, but when artificial becomes the ideal I think we have lost something.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 03:46 am (UTC)My only issue with it was that she never seemed to find any guy on the street attractive from a visual-only, so I could never return the favour.
How does that work between you?
no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 01:15 pm (UTC)I get to drool over movie stars and pant over the occasional hottie when I pass him on the street. The problem is (and I mean no offense by this to you as a guy) there are more attractive women then there are men. Since men are so visually oriented, women try harder to look good. Which sucks when it comes to my viewing pleasure... ;P
no subject
Date: 2006-06-11 01:54 am (UTC)Your space sounds really good.