I was sitting up in the Balcony Four cheap seats waiting for the opera to begin. A college-age couple came and sat next to me. As I read my program notes, I couldn't avoid overhearing what sounded like Act 1, Scene 1 of a domestic tragedy.
The two spoke of wedding preparations and I gathered that they were newly engaged. However, I heard no excitement in their voices -- no trace of that playful dialect spoken by young lovers. She was icy; he was almost mute. She lectured him concerning her marital expectations. She did not want to be called "Mrs." or be referred to as "wife." These labels were "unnecessary for her validation" and were unwelcome. It was as if she were reading from a strident, 1960s feminist tract. She insisted that he should have the same objections to being called "Mr." or "husband." He made no reply.
If I could have taken the young man aside, I would have given the following advice:
Flee, young man. Flee and don't look back. The woman has not given you her heart. Instead, she views her life as a one-woman show and you are nothing more than a convenient stage prop. Your loveless marriage will founder within two years and you will be discarded.
I can picture her returning to the opera with some new man. He will sit beside her as meekly as you do now and listen to her yammer, "I had to end my marriage. Sad, of course, but necessary. The marriage wasn't allowing me to validate all the parameters of my personhood."
So, rouse yourself, young man, and escape this wretched trap before it closes on you. Find yourself a jolly girl that delights in your company.
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I am happy that my older son found a jolly girl that delights in his company. I wish the same blessing -- all in good time -- for my younger son.
