September 1, 2011 § 15 Comments
When I was away for the weekend almost everyone – and there were a lot of people – asked me if I was with someone.
Sometimes I felt like saying fuck off the lot of you but I didn’t because I love them and I understand the desire for narrative.
They put it in different ways. The great-grandmother figure asked it delicately; the grandmother of young children who when I first divorced had told me “to have fun, just fuck, fuck, fuck”, posed her nosiness more bluntly. Really close family who live abroad but were here for a week or so, felt they could launch right in with a, “Seeing anyone?” here, or a “Screwing anyone?” there. Impossible Cad probed again and again, but in a flirty, am-I-in-with-a-chance? kind of way. Unforgivable, but kind of dare I say it and strike me down and call me perverse but don’t hate me – (very temporarily) sexy. I tried to duck and dive with all of them including Unforgivable Impossible Cad but no amount of obscure remarks or tactful dissembling would deter any of them. They wanted news of my sex life and we were at odds because I didn’t want to give it.
I wonder if men are subjected to this amount of interrogation? I suspect not. They’d deck you. As I am sure I have said before, planktons on the other hand are apparently public property. Questions are blithely asked regardless of the feelings engendered in us by the answers. I know this sounds rather po-faced – and I hate to fuck po-faced – but I wonder what it is about the middle-aged woman on her own which makes people feel she is fair game? Makes them feel she can be plundered for information about her paltry private life purely for the sport of it. As flies to wanton boys and all that.
And how the fuck to deal with it?