Open Door Policy

Okay. So, open relationships. I promised I was going to open the can of worms, and here it is.

Now I don't have a problem with people in open relationships, some of my best friends are in open relationships... If they are going to go off, have one night stands, affairs, all of that malarkey, and their partners are doing the same, or even if their partners are staying at home watching Desperate Housewives and chucking back Ferrero Rochers - as long as they love each other and they have an understanding, then that's fine. As the delightful Darren Casey would say "Good luck to 'em. Good luck to everybody."

Here's the tricky bit; who are they meeting? In an ideal world, people in open relationships would have a network of other people in open relationships and they could party like it's 1973. (Open relationships, like the handlebar moustache and Cher, are a hangover from the seventies that has never gone out of fashion with my people). Perhaps they could start their own online community, call it 7yearitch.com, and use it to hook up for "casual discrete fun."

That's not the reality however. There are those of us out there who are single, and are looking for something a bit more substantial than one or two nights here and there. I live under the, possibly mistaken, belief that I might meet someone I could spend the rest of my life with. I may be living in some kind of delusional fantasy world, but the rent is very reasonable here in La-la-land, so I'm staying.

These two ideals should not meet, you would think, but it happens far too often. I keep meeting men in relationships. Now, sure, if I say 'Meet me at the Peel' or some other nightclub at poo o'clock on a Sunday morning, then I'm probably not expecting much. (I'm happy to be surprised - I could easily fall in love with someone under those circumstances). On the other hand, if we organize to go out to dinner - surely that's a date. That says, in most languages, "let's see if we like each other." The gays, we have sex all the time without finding out somebody's name, let alone if one of us has a toxic personality, so going out on a date implies one is open to more than just an hour or so of mattress testing.

Then there is the way the open relationship is broached. It's so matter of fact. "I have a boyfriend." Fantastic. I've just racked up a fifty buck dinner bill when I could be at home watching last week's Prison Break. Again. "We have an open relationship." Well, that's a relief... For a minute there I thought I might have to start feeling guilty. "He knows I'm here and he's fine with it." Really? How nice for him. What about me? What if I'm not fine with it?  What if I was looking for more than another frog to pash? What if I was hoping to finally meet a prince? Clearly, Cinderella has gone to the wrong ball, and Prince Charming has a whole closet full of slippers.

You know, getting involved with someone in an open relationship is kind of like getting on a plane where everyone except you has a parachute. If he doesn't like the destination, off he pops back to his boyfriend, and you are left, like cross-eyed Karen Black, trying to land the plane on your own, while the cracked cockpit window keeps letting the wind in and messing up your bouffant. I laboured that metaphor a little, but you get what I mean. If I wanted a relationship that was as disasterous as Airport '75, then I'd go out with Kevin Federline.

Okay. There's the first one out of the way. Let's see if I can keep on track. I had a complaint that this blog wasn't updated often enough. And my first post is the Titanic. See, you have to be careful what you wish for.

Mwah
Be good.
Don't break anything.
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