Vodka Yonic features a rotating cast of women and nonbinary writers from around the world sharing stories that are alternately humorous, sobering, intellectual, erotic, religious or painfully personal. You never know what you’ll find in this column, but we hope this potent mix of stories encourages conversation.
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory gave me a lot of anxiety as a child, and I know it was because of two things: 1. Charlie was poor and could not have candy when he wanted, and I could not make sure he did; and 2. He had to choose just one person to go with him to the chocolate factory.
I agonized over this hypothetical decision — who would I choose?
As an adult, when I do something fun, who do I choose to take with me? Without a significant other, that could be a lot of different people, varying by setting. But as each of my people finds “their person,” they have a default choice. More painfully, given one guest to the chocolate factory, who would choose me?
Both my brother and I received gift cards from our grandma for the same restaurant for Christmas. I opened mine first and immediately said I’d take him with me. He opened his second. I know he’ll take his girlfriend — and as he should! He’s taking her to Disney World, too — something that we’ve done as a pair for the past 10-plus years. My best friend went to New England in the fall with her boyfriend, and she also started referring to him as her best friend. I get edged out as plus-ones to weddings and work events, not chosen for the extra concert ticket or a bedroom in the Gatlinburg cabin.
I can’t help but feel like sometimes people reserve the very best things for their significant other. Or that somehow, worse yet, they wouldn’t have planned the fun thing at all if they didn’t have that person to do it with. I’m guilty of it myself — saving the idea of a trip to wherever they filmed Mamma Mia! in Greece for someday when I’m in a serious relationship. I know it’s normal for this to happen. I don’t think it’s as simple as envy, though. As my closest people get engaged, married and into endgame relationships, I am — through no fault of my own — moving down one slot in the Golden Ticket list for most everyone who matters to me. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. There’s nothing I even want to do to stop it, because I want them to be happy. Maybe I just want them to be happy in a similar way as me, without a significant other. I was the default, and now I’m not. I thought I would have more time before this shift.
In the movie My Policeman, Marion — the wife of Harry Styles’ character Tom Burgess — talks about how she’d always wanted to go to Venice. When Tom’s lover Patrick takes him on a trip there, the two of them send her a postcard. She burns it. She’s so upset that she calls the police and makes up a crime that the lover committed so he goes to jail and disappears from their life. In this season of life, I’m the wife. And I know this is problematic, but I want to call the police.
Being in a relationship has been the exception, rather than the rule, in my life. I didn’t have a boyfriend for the first time until I was 25. I used to legitimately think cuddling was for weak people, and I was stronger than everyone else. I think of myself as someone who can enjoy my own company, and I have always needed a bit of that to recharge.
But experiencing love changed me. (Or perhaps the bell hooks book All About Love: New Visions changed me — not sure which.) I know that I want that again, and I’m willing to take chances at getting absolutely busted to have it. I want someone to help me do mundane things like decide what to eat for dinner and watch a creepy movie that everyone’s talking about and then sleep over. A man to walk me to my car so I don’t have to be so vigilant. Someone to kiss and hug and write nice cards to — cards that I don’t even need to worry about being too mushy. And eventually, someone with whom to have a house and kids and vacations.
It’s hard to be honest about these things to people in relationships, people who found their significant others at a younger age than me. I don’t want them to feel sad for me. Or worse, offer platitudes like, “It’ll happen when you least expect it!” It’s not like finding “your person” is something you can earn or strategize about too much, anyway. People are in the habit of saying I should try wanting it less, and then maybe I’ll get it.
Part of the blame is on me. There are certainly moments when I retreat, missing out on time with my friends. I only have the stomach for so much third- and fifth-wheeling. I only have the stomach for so much small talk between myself and the men who are involved with my friends but who do not care to know me very well. I only have the stomach to hear so much complaining about boyfriends — men who would love to spend unlimited minutes with my friends — and the busy schedule of trips and outings they plan together. That, I admit, I am envious of.
My loved ones will read this and tell me they would totally pick me to take to the chocolate factory. But I know that can’t be true of most of them, and that’s OK. I’m convinced that until I get to be invited on the double date, I can make the most of my single time.
If I’m following my own philosophy — the one about not saving the best things. I guess I have to go to Greece now.
