Big Burger

It occurred to me recently that my Big might actually be my Berger.  Sex in the City fans will recall that Jack Berger breaks up with Carrie via a post-it note.  My Big dealt her blow via a long email that bandied the word friend about like a weapon.  I submit that the difference between a post-it and an email is about as slim as she is.

Like the Bradshaw-Berger relationship, ours was one of unprecedented chemistry (at least for me), yet troubles with her then recent ex and certain insecurities on both sides reared immediately.  One of our major differences, the deal breaker in the second end (because she had to essentially tell me twice since the first time was basically a “not now, but maybe later”) was our opposing view of what a relationship dynamic looks like.  She believes in the idea of “sameness,” that you feel the same way about each other all the time, a sort of balance of power although she would never use that phrasing.

Before I get to my view, I must interject what most of my straight female friends are thinking at this moment, some variation of: “Jesus, I’m so glad I don’t date women.  Guys are simple.”  As one friend recently put it, “You just sort of kick ‘em in the balls, and move on with your shared lives.”  Ahem, no thank you.

So my conception of a relationship is that, when it comes to dynamics, the minute-by-minute roller coaster cliché is more apt.  Even my best, long-term relationship fit this mold, and it wasn’t as exhausting as it might sound.  We learned to have fun with it, and there were many more common highs than discordant lows.  Yet, Big runs from such pitches.  We, in an ill-advised attempt at friendship waaay too early, got into an epic argument over this because, not understanding it, I questioned her sincerity.  I threw bombshells around like “fear” and “you only want what you can’t have.”  We did not speak to each other for months.

Regardless of my accuracy in that moment, I have since learned from observation in her new relationship that, in fact, she still holds this sameness value in high esteem.  I feel like this aspect, this fundamental relationship expectation is crucial, yet it’s not something you’re likely going to discover early on.  The practical side of me longs for a drop down menu of compatibility options including, but not limited to, your preferred side of the bed.  One need not meet all the criteria, but at least you know what is coming to the table.

Perhaps I’m too high maintenance, yet that’s the nasty chaffing bit because my unicorn interpretation of her view seems to me to be the untenable part.  My coaster leaves loads of room for ambiguity, realism, love, growth, and admittedly, sadness.  One of my favorite SITC episodes is called “La Douleur Exquise”, when Big breaks up with Carrie unexpectedly before he heads off to France.

In response, she hurls a Filet O’ Fish sandwich at him and it hits the stainless steal surface behind Chris Noth’s head.  You see the mayo streaking down—a disgusting, perfect visual juxtaposed with the gut wrenching look on SJP’s face.  How odd, then, to realize I’ve been mourning a faux fish moment, a Berger moment in disguise.  My torrid love affair may have been a brightly colored sticky square all along, ready for the trash can before the ink had dried.

The side of fries here is that if she is not my Big, then someone else is.  It only took me one year and nine months to realize this.  Quick wit, turtle heart.