Periodic table of dating.
So now that I’m walking in single lady stilettos, it has quickly become clear to me that the window shopping experience for a partner is less casual, more business.
Last night while out on the town with girlfriends celebrating our Irish ancestors, I was approached by a good looking chap who stood about 6 feet tall, very personable, funny, witty, educated, and a transplant from New Orleans. He is also born & bred Indian.
Throughout all my dating adventures over the last two decades, I’ve encountered all colors of the rainbow – a full spectrum of ethnicities covering most prominent parts of the planet, except South Asia.
During our banter I learned that he was married for two years [not arranged], his parents live in India, he moved to the states 10 years ago, and claims he has full independence from the customs of multi-generational patriarchal joint families. In fact, part of his reasoning for living in America is to further disconnect from the structured, seal-tight DNA dynamics.
Admittedly my only real exposure with his native land is Slumdog Millionaire, an amazing film by the way. But I do know for a fact that parents in this country traditionally run the show. Despite him trying to convince me that their overseas grip on his life is weak, I just didn’t buy it.
After a solid 60 minutes of chatting it up & a few Miller Lites later, I came clean with him. Been there, done that. I dated someone for a long time of Middle Eastern decent where his parents were the cornerstone of our relationship. Every decision, every move, every turn – had to go by them. That was their norm. It wasn’t mine. Neither was necessarily right or wrong, but that was the reality, and it was vastly different.
When I marry my man, I don’t want to also marry his parents. Sure you indirectly inherit them into your life as in-laws, but in my opinion there has to be a line drawn where husband and wife run their own household, raise their own children by mutual and agreed up on conditions, and parents respect boundaries leaving overbearing opinions at the doorstep. Sharing the same bed with 3 people, metaphorically speaking, compromised personal comfort levels. A two-legged and four-legged best friend are the only bodies who’ll be sharing my sheets.
I remember while growing up my Mother told me [who doesn’t have a racist cell in her body] that life will naturally be easier if I marry someone who comes from a “similar background.” And it wasn’t even so much race, but more so religion and cultural customs that she believed could become sticky. At the time I didn’t quite get that rationale – if you love someone, then so be it, no matter what hurdles may inherently come your way from varied upbringings.
But Mother Knows Best is a well-known expression for a reason… I’ve come to find out. I now know, through experience, that cohabitating and spending a life with someone who shares my morals, values, beliefs and viewpoints on family politics is non-negotiable. Otherwise life will be vastly more challenging, as if it isn’t already difficult enough to begin with.
I didn’t give the Bollywood bachelor my digits – but took his. He wants to take me to dinner, and I haven’t made a decision yet. Although getting together would be innocent and breaking bread doesn’t mean we have to elope, time is precious and I don’t want to waste anyone’s, including mine. He appears to be a fine fella on the surface, but I know what hides behind closed doors, and it is fundamentally changing the way I scope out prospects.
It isn’t just about chemistry. Or physical attractiveness. Or how they dress. Or their sense of humor. It is about two lives coming together with varying amounts of baggage and whether or not those overstuffed suitcases are compatible.
Science, from the Latin Scientia, means “knowledge”. And husband shopping is certainly turning into a science. Through every single experience, I feel closer to cracking the code.
