Life partners (and why I will never have one)

by Florentine

Aside from Gail Platt performing an elicit sex scene in Coronation Street, or finding an anchovy in an otherwise perfect Caesar salad, there are few things in life that unsettle me like the omnipresent beast of social awkwardness.  Challenge me to eat five cream crackers in one minute without the aid of water, or sit me down in front of an A level psychology paper with no prior tuition and chances are, I’ll achieve both with relative success and ease (maybe).  Conversely, give me three people I should really know better by now and one friend to introduce them to, and I’ll be more likely to vomit all over their shiny new brogues than remember anybody’s name.

This, my friends, is why I will never have a life partner.  Confused?  Read on…

I’ve had to attend more ‘official’ events this year than any other year I’ve known; weddings, hen parties, landmark birthday gatherings, funerals, baby welcoming-parties (they DO exist) – you name it, chances are I’ve been [and had to buy yet another new outfit, but don’t get me started].  Anyway, amidst the endless stream of cold sausage rolls, lukewarm wine and dodgy 80’s music, I’ve somehow experienced an epiphany that’s been 24 years in the making: I’m astonishingly bad at small-talk.  Like Earth’s biggest elephant in the world’s smallest room, now that I have finally admitted this fact, I’ve moved on to wondering how I’ve managed to ignore it for so long.

Those of you not marred with this fist-eating affliction, rejoice!  Those of you who casually stockpile lines like, “Lucky with the weather weren’t they?” and “What was the traffic like getting here?” for unfettered roll-out at weddings, school reunions and engagement parties alike, clap your hands!  For you are the lucky few, the chosen ones – perhaps you’ll even have life partners one day.

We’re all well aware by now that same-sex partnerships eschew established, societal norms and more recently, as acceptance has grown, have been faced with a new ‘neat-sticky-label’ dilemma – i.e. that of what to call your lawful partner in lieu of the more traditional, um, ‘husband’.  Personally, I don’t see what’s wrong with utilising a straight-forward, easily-digestible and universal ‘wife’.  As that cute slash infuriating be-suited meerkat says on the telebox… simples!  Even a completely new term for our particular cause (Gaybund? Wifbian?) I could grow to love, like a scraggy, matted-hair moggy with half a tail, one eye and no home.  ‘Life partners’ on the other hand, are a crowd-silencing, quip-inducing, self-righteous step too far, surely?

Now, I am a gay.  I am a gay who hopes to get married at some point and live in a gay house doing gay things with my worldly gay possessions (and my wifbian of course – it’s growing on me already).  But were I ever at a tea party/wedding/baby shower/groan-inducing event of choice and somebody introduced me to their ‘life partner’, I’d think they were (to be frank) a little bit of a tool.  Conversationally speaking, where do you even go from there, apart from spitting your (aforementioned) lukewarm chardonnay all over their face and crumpling into a heap of silent laughter on the floor?  Or in my socially-redundant case, likely firing back nervously, “you mean your wife, you idiot?”  Forgive me if I am the only one of this opinion, but the term ‘life partner’ instantly implants a rolling film-like montage of Saga Insurance ads, Werther’s Original and Caribbean cruises through my mind.  I see wrinkles and pension books and shoe horns.  I see my grandparents.  Ultimately I suppose, I see everyone who doesn’t really understand what it is like to be a real life, modern lesbian.  In short, it’s so overtly politically-correct, that it just sounds a bit silly and a lot awkward.

Now that we’ve (sort of) reached full circle in my self-indulgent rant, you can perhaps begin to understand my aversion.  Aside from the craving for Werther’s Original that would undoubtedly result from every utterance of the term, the thought of introducing my other half to a room full of vague acquaintances I’m desperately trying to recall the names of (should anyone new join the conversation asking about M4 traffic) as my life partner, fills me with utter dread.  For the only reaction I can ever foresee, is penny-dropping silence and a wave of people gnawing awkwardly on their own fists – people like me that is.

So please married lesbian public… down with life partners!