I Am Whoever I Say I Am

Sometimes, I simply do not understand my own brain. Typically, I have no complaints -- I mean, come on, it got me through college and law school on thrice-weekly benders, and does an entirely respectable job of impersonating a lawyer who knows what the hell she's doing. Sometimes, it even allows for something that resembles wit. But other times - jeesh. it's like it's possessed. Which is exactly what happened at lunch yesterday (with not only two senior partners but another older attorney who in a high-powered firm, of course).

For some background, you should know I've never thought it amusing to use, as a joke premise, those gross stereotypes of marriage generally seen in common-denominator sitcoms, where the wife is the childish, manipulative, shopaholic layabout and the husband is the put-upon, harried, breadwinner who has to be tricked by his wife into buying flowers, going to dinner, and buying her what she wants. I just don't think it's funny. Fine, it may be true, somewhere out there, that there are marriages like this, but I think that's sad, and I certainly don't think any of the men I was having lunch with are in such marriages (actually, having met two of the wives, I can say that absolutely does not appear to be the case).  But, as we're eating, one of them (the non-partner) starts talking about his wife's new car, explaining that she had gotten a very sporty coupe as a replacement for the family's old van (since their four kids had flown the proverbial nest). One of the other guys started laughing, and said something that basically implied that the husband had bought his wife the sporty car to get himself out of trouble. And, having just had some kind of out-of-body experience, instead of just smiling politely and moving to a new topic, my brain decides instead to cue up some response about how many anniversaries he'd now be allowed to forget in the future. Everyone laughed and kept talking, so it's not like it was a huge social gaffe (I don't think, anyway), but I was totally shocked. Hello? Who am I? Is this just some trickledown effect of being around too many men for too long? Am I like becoming a caricature of one or something? I think I need to find one of those time-delay things they use in radio for screening curses.

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