Dear Ms. Behavior:
I received an invitation for a reunion for my old softball team. I was close to several women back then and, although I haven’t seen them for over two decades, I am curious about how their lives have turned out. But I’m apprehensive about questions people might ask, so I’m not sure if I should go.
I don’t know how to respond to questions about why my girlfriend and I don’t have children. I’ve found that my quick brush-off about it not being “meant to be” doesn’t work anymore and I often end up with a well-meaning person reassuring me that it’s not too late and I should keep trying. This is unbearably awkward because my partner and I don’t want to “try.” We are in our 40s and actually childless by choice.
I don’t want to be judged as a loser. If I choose to go to the reunion, how should I respond to nosy questions about my fertility? Or should I just stay home to avoid the issue? — Babyless
Dear Babyless:
Reunions are terrifying events, designed to make everyone feel inferior. Just imagine how many of your former teammates feel acutely self-conscious about their fourth divorce, their 40th unsuccessful rehab attempt or their mortifying appearance on “The Jerry Springer Show.” Right now, most of them are undoubtedly standing in front of their mirrors with whitening strips on their teeth, grasping the real or imaginary fat around their middle, wondering how many ounces they can lose in the days that remain until the big event. The point is that reunions activate self-doubt. Your feelings are normal, but unwarranted because most people are self-centered and unlikely to ask more than a question or two.
The baby issue is annoying. You may long for the days when lesbians were viewed as earnest, sexless, softball-playing spinsters. But the fact that Rosie and Kelly have eight or nine babies doesn’t mean you need to follow suit. And you don’t need to explain your choice to anyone.
The fact that most lesbians (or even most women) can have babies doesn’t mean they all should. Some people are better suited to raise Dalmatians or hairless felines. Others prefer to drink vodka and write sonnets; a regular feeding schedule and sore nipples would be too dire a distraction. There are those, too, who are happier alone or in a calm little dyad, who don’t have the energy or desire to feed, educate and comfort clingy little creatures for two or more decades. People who prefer a lifestyle that allows for spontaneous travel to exotic countries or service to disadvantaged neighbors are better left to such pursuits.
Dear Ms. Behavior:
My friend Laurel is smart and interesting, but also single and lonely, so I set her up on blind dates with three different women. Apparently all of the dates went fairly well, at least at first. The problem is that none of the women agreed to see her again after the second or third time. Laurel was really discouraged and felt like she was doing something wrong, so she asked me if I could find out why they’d all cooled off. I said I thought it was too awkward but Laurel begged, so I finally consented.
One of the dates refused to tell me what happened. The others both said that Laurel talked in a baby voice during sex and that they were embarrassed by it. Now I’m in an awkward position: Do I tell Laurel what I’ve learned or do I protect her dignity by telling her that I couldn’t find out? — Laurel’s Friend
Dear Laurel’s Friend:
Now that you’ve accepted your special mission as Laurel’s love spy, it’s your duty to tell her the mortifying truth without embarrassing her. First, tell her something weird about yourself. Say whichever one might apply: “I have hairy buttocks.” “I long to be peed on.” “I wear a silicone butt plug to work.” Then, once you’ve disclosed your own nasty little secret, you can switch gears and tell her that she needs to clam up during sex.
Meryl Cohn is the author of “‘Do What I Say’: Ms. Behavior’s Guide to Gay and Lesbian Etiquette” (Houghton Mifflin). E-mail her at [email protected] or visit www.msbehavior.com.