UPDATED: Now with picture…
You know how former smokers are more anti-smoking than people who have never smoked? That is how I am about marriage.
Aside from believing that marriage causes cancer and that second-hand marriage can be just as harmful and therefore kept indoors, I also believe that marriage was a construct to protect women with children when they were second class citizens and the property of men. That way a woman could produce offspring with some protections against being left destitute.
Well, here in 2013 I am my own man. I don’t need a marriage. I am not having kids. I am happily monogamous with my shacking-up-boyfriend (we have a running joke that if he ever wants to break up with me all he needs to do is propose marriage), who I often refer to as my Dude. Until last night, that is.
We were warming up for our improv show which was pulling a pretty decent crowd of people. Suddenly I remembered some work friends said they might show up. “Ooooh I have people in the audience tonight,” I said, “and I don’t mean just my husband!”
I just called Andrew my husband.
About a year ago I would have crossed myself (or star-of-david-ed) and spat between two fingers. Two years ago I would have probably cut my tongue out of my mouth. But, last night, I did the only obvious thing. I stared at the suddenly silent gaping group of people around me and broke out in a blushing, embarrassed laugh. “Well, you know what I mean.”
The room broke out in raucous laughter and a gladiator type battle to get to the door – and Andrew – first to relay the comedy.
Of course, Andrew and I are not married, nor getting married – ever. The problem, I think, is that saying “boyfriend” at almost 40 years of age seems juvenile, “dude” is sometimes contextually inelegant, I don’t want to have to say “Andrew” and then explain he is my boyfriend/dude (see above) to those who are unaware. Therefore, in light of this faux pas and the obvious need of clear verbiage, I have coined the term Notsband.
Feel free to borrow and spread.