Romance for Real Women

A friend and self-proclaimed real woman came over last night to vent about her partner’s inadequacies.

Normally, I automatically side with a woman. Women tend to understand each other. But this time, I confess, I just couldn’t see it. All her complaints focused on the minor, practical details of living together. He’d failed to take out the garbage, although it was his job. He’d failed to wash the dishes although it was his turn. He’d failed to put the toilet seat up, although she’d repeatedly insisted he remember to do it.

After listening to her for a couple of hours and drinking at least three glasses of wine, I began to realize something about my friend. She’s is the kind of woman who will never be pleased; who will never allow herself to be happy. And, if she finds someone who loves her, she’ll hammer at it until it’s gone.

Another friend did exactly that. She married a young, ambitious guy and she wanted everything he could give her: a big house, jewelry, an ample credit line and big cars. To get them for her, he had to work and work hard. As he began to move up the ranks in the big electronics company he worked for, he began to travel extensively to Asia and Europe.

That was the trade off. No travel, no big house, no credit cards, no jewelry.

But she wouldn’t uphold her end of the bargain. Every time he came home, she bitched and bitched and bitched. He didn’t take out the garbage. She had to deal with the kids alone (never mind that she had plenty of help). He wouldn’t do this; he wouldn’t do that. Her complaints were endless and so very, very minor.

He offered to move the family to Asia to reduce their time apart. But, she wasn’t having any of that. No sir. She had the big house in the suburbs and that’s where she was staying.

Finally, he started coming home less and less. She started spending more and more and at last exceeded their very comfortable means. When he took control of the finances, she hired a divorce lawyer as a tactic. He was served. And, he agreed to the divorce. She was stunned and devastated.

Last night, I told my friend this story. I’m not sure she understood my point, although she did sense some criticism where she thought she’d get unconditional support. But I know her guy. I know he’s a sweet, hardworking fellow who’d do anything for her, although I guess he did forget to take out the garbage and put down the toilet seat.

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m as willing as the next person to go to the mat on important issues. Forgetting to pick up the kids, for example. Now that, I’ll tussle about. But this stuff, no.

I suspect this relationship is going to fail soon. I also suspect my friend is going to be devastated. She’s never going to see it coming.

PBS aired the final episode of Canford last night to the applause of real women everywhere.

The Masterpiece series is based on the novels of Elizabeth Gaskell, a Victorian novelist who also wrote gothic horror stories. (In fact, if you’re reading an historical romance and the hero makes a snarky remark about the heroine’s preference in novels, he is probably referring to the work of Mrs. Gaskell.)

Cranford, however, is based her 1851 novel of the same name about life in rural Cheshire.

Mrs. Gaskell is what we used to call in college when I thought I had some understanding of these matters a “minor Victorian novelist.” There was, however, nothing minor about this production.

Headed by a fabulous cast including Judi Dench and Eileen Atkins, the series focuses on the relations between the men and women in a rural English village and how those relations were impacted by the Industrial Revolution which brought such sweeping change to England in all matters, large and small.

These things interest me.

As an example, the Judi Dench character, Miss Mattie Jenkins, has been in love for decades with the yeoman farmer, Mr. Holbrook, played by Michael Gambon. However, as the rector’s daughter, it was thought that an alliance with a yeoman was beneath her station. Some of the most touching scenes in Cranford include their reunion and its outcome.

A variety of relationship issues beset other couples. A young doctor with radically new medical theories such as how to set a broken arm is undone by a hormonally driven patient. Duty to family and father drives another couple apart. And, through it all, we are reminded of how terribly fragile life was in England even in the middle of the vast and ultimately beneficial changes leading to the modern era.

Oh, my. I love this stuff.

Unfortunately for me and I suspect many of you, the recent attention by Hollywood to Jane Austin’s work including Pride and Prejudice and Bridget Jones Diary has snapped my partner’s willingness to sit through what he derided as “another chick film” on his way out last night.

Pay him no mind. Go to www.pbs.org and check it out. Then get the DVD. Curl up and watch it by yourself or with friends.

He won’t know what he’s missed.

And now real women have another relationship guru to contend with, a miserable little toad called Marc Rudov who recently surfaced on national television, presenting himself as an authority on romance, relationships and women.

Mr. Rudov’s appearance was apparently prompted by the debut of his radio show, “The Mark Rudov Show” which in a perfect world should sink without a ripple.

Mr. Rudov contends that most women are “little girls occupying women’s bodies.” He further contends that men are depressed because “they’ve allowed women to take over the world.”

Huh?

Real women know we rule…behind the scenes. We don’t flaunt our authority. We don’t want men depressed. We love men. We want them happy. Really. We go to great lengths to make them happy. And, we know they’re happiest when they follow our direction.

If you must, go to www.marcrudovradio.com But, in my opinion, this is a toad not worth kissing.