Friendships between women should be simple. The other day, I was at the pool with my oldest friend. She and I have been friends since we were five. We were spending an afternoon kicking in the water and catching up. Sun, exercise, a good friend, and later, frozen yogurt. What could be better? We were discussing female relationships, and how they should be simple, but are often fraught with difficulty.
What is it with women, anyway? Why is is so difficult for some of them to just be friends with other women? Why can't they be willing to help each other? Where did sisterhood go? Are women really so threatened by other women that they need to resort to constant backstabbing?
I'm lucky; I have a small group of really solid female friends who are always there for me. But I'm sure I'm not the only one who has worked in a female environment that has been subject to the bitchy girl-games that a lot of woman play. My daughter was exposed to those bitchy-girl-games in school from pre-school on; she fortunately had a good group of friends and also didn't care too much what other girls thought, and so has come into adulthood relatively unscathed, my mothering aside. But the girls playing the games? They learned it somewhere, most likely from their own mothers.
I wasn't always such a stellar judge of character, male or female. My intuition is working much better these days, or maybe I've become secure enough that I trust it when it tells me to beware of someone.
When I finished college I got a job, and worked with a friendly woman who became my friend. We'd go out together after work, we'd talk, we'd go for bike rides, hang out. My then-boyfriend didn't like or trust her, felt she was a drama queen and shallow. I thought she was a lot of fun, especially compared to the incredibly serious musicologists I was used to associating with. They were intellectual people, to be sure, but unfortunately not that much fun. This woman had a great boyfriend who was totally in love with her, she was blonde and while not exactly pretty, she was vivacious, and had a way of making you feel like you were valuable. She was fun.
The cracks in her veneer started showing one night at a party we all attended. Her boyfriend was out of town, so she came alone. The host had a friend of his staying with him, this hunky, gorgeous Australian rugby player. At some point in the evening, the woman and the rugby player disappeared; later they came in from the backyard. She was disheveled, her eyes bright. Later, she told me, that they had just messed around a bit, but it meant nothing, and was already forgotten. I started spending less time with her, after that, because I really liked her boyfriend and felt really angry that she was messing around on him, even though, it was none of my business. Eventually, they got married. She left him for a married attorney, who left his pregnant wife for her.
Years later, I became friends with a woman at my gym, who in many ways reminded me of this other woman in my past. My gym friend was vivacious, fun to be around, and while not really pretty, used what she had to great advantage. She always had a different guy; never anything long lived, even though once she actually dated someone for two weeks, which was kind of a record for her. I felt a sense of unease, kind of a prickle, sometimes, when we were talking, because I wasn't sure how reliable she was in the loyalty department. Not very, as it turned out.
She decided that she wanted to train with this one particular trainer. I didn't care for this woman, she was a lousy trainer, and exceedingly arrogant. But, whatever, it wasn't my dime. One day I came into the locker room to leave my stuff before my workout, and this trainer was there. I smiled at her and started putting my stuff in a locker. "Oh! So now you smile at me! After talking all that shit behind my back!" she said cuttingly. "Who the hell do you think you are, anyway, to tell my clients that I don't know what I'm doing?" I was speechless. I wasn't going to deny it, because it was the truth. I just rolled my eyes in a deprecating way, sighed, and went to lift. You can't fight if you don't respond. I never spoke to either of them again. The faux-gym buddy, she never stopped trying to make pleasant small talk and smile and laugh with me, but I just shut her down; she ceased to exist for me, and eventually she got the message and stopped trying. A month later she left my gym and moved to a more chi-chi one. I haven't seen her since. As for the trainer? She got that fish-pout thing done to her lips, and bought enormous breasts. She landed a doctor, got married, had a baby, and then the doctor left her for another woman. She's back at the gym, after being "retired" for several years, and she always smiles at me, but I'm just not having it. But at least she can smile again, her lips now back to normal.
Tonight at the grocery store I was getting a cart. There was a dumpy woman about my age, trying to figure out which cart she wanted. I just took one, and passed her going into the store. "Hey!" she shouted, with a sour expression on her face. I looked at her inquiringly. "Why are you racing me?" she said, angrily. I couldn't help myself; I burst into laughter and moved ahead, while she glared at me. I am a fast walker, and I was in my gym clothes, and maybe I shouldn't have laughed, but it was really funny.
Okay, I promise: I won't walk faster than you, unless you get in my way. I won't laugh at you, unless you take yourself too seriously. I won't hate you for being sour, don't hate me for being happy.
Life goes on. Why can't we women be kinder to each other?
What is it with women, anyway? Why is is so difficult for some of them to just be friends with other women? Why can't they be willing to help each other? Where did sisterhood go? Are women really so threatened by other women that they need to resort to constant backstabbing?
I'm lucky; I have a small group of really solid female friends who are always there for me. But I'm sure I'm not the only one who has worked in a female environment that has been subject to the bitchy girl-games that a lot of woman play. My daughter was exposed to those bitchy-girl-games in school from pre-school on; she fortunately had a good group of friends and also didn't care too much what other girls thought, and so has come into adulthood relatively unscathed, my mothering aside. But the girls playing the games? They learned it somewhere, most likely from their own mothers.
I wasn't always such a stellar judge of character, male or female. My intuition is working much better these days, or maybe I've become secure enough that I trust it when it tells me to beware of someone.
When I finished college I got a job, and worked with a friendly woman who became my friend. We'd go out together after work, we'd talk, we'd go for bike rides, hang out. My then-boyfriend didn't like or trust her, felt she was a drama queen and shallow. I thought she was a lot of fun, especially compared to the incredibly serious musicologists I was used to associating with. They were intellectual people, to be sure, but unfortunately not that much fun. This woman had a great boyfriend who was totally in love with her, she was blonde and while not exactly pretty, she was vivacious, and had a way of making you feel like you were valuable. She was fun.
The cracks in her veneer started showing one night at a party we all attended. Her boyfriend was out of town, so she came alone. The host had a friend of his staying with him, this hunky, gorgeous Australian rugby player. At some point in the evening, the woman and the rugby player disappeared; later they came in from the backyard. She was disheveled, her eyes bright. Later, she told me, that they had just messed around a bit, but it meant nothing, and was already forgotten. I started spending less time with her, after that, because I really liked her boyfriend and felt really angry that she was messing around on him, even though, it was none of my business. Eventually, they got married. She left him for a married attorney, who left his pregnant wife for her.
Years later, I became friends with a woman at my gym, who in many ways reminded me of this other woman in my past. My gym friend was vivacious, fun to be around, and while not really pretty, used what she had to great advantage. She always had a different guy; never anything long lived, even though once she actually dated someone for two weeks, which was kind of a record for her. I felt a sense of unease, kind of a prickle, sometimes, when we were talking, because I wasn't sure how reliable she was in the loyalty department. Not very, as it turned out.
She decided that she wanted to train with this one particular trainer. I didn't care for this woman, she was a lousy trainer, and exceedingly arrogant. But, whatever, it wasn't my dime. One day I came into the locker room to leave my stuff before my workout, and this trainer was there. I smiled at her and started putting my stuff in a locker. "Oh! So now you smile at me! After talking all that shit behind my back!" she said cuttingly. "Who the hell do you think you are, anyway, to tell my clients that I don't know what I'm doing?" I was speechless. I wasn't going to deny it, because it was the truth. I just rolled my eyes in a deprecating way, sighed, and went to lift. You can't fight if you don't respond. I never spoke to either of them again. The faux-gym buddy, she never stopped trying to make pleasant small talk and smile and laugh with me, but I just shut her down; she ceased to exist for me, and eventually she got the message and stopped trying. A month later she left my gym and moved to a more chi-chi one. I haven't seen her since. As for the trainer? She got that fish-pout thing done to her lips, and bought enormous breasts. She landed a doctor, got married, had a baby, and then the doctor left her for another woman. She's back at the gym, after being "retired" for several years, and she always smiles at me, but I'm just not having it. But at least she can smile again, her lips now back to normal.
Tonight at the grocery store I was getting a cart. There was a dumpy woman about my age, trying to figure out which cart she wanted. I just took one, and passed her going into the store. "Hey!" she shouted, with a sour expression on her face. I looked at her inquiringly. "Why are you racing me?" she said, angrily. I couldn't help myself; I burst into laughter and moved ahead, while she glared at me. I am a fast walker, and I was in my gym clothes, and maybe I shouldn't have laughed, but it was really funny.
Okay, I promise: I won't walk faster than you, unless you get in my way. I won't laugh at you, unless you take yourself too seriously. I won't hate you for being sour, don't hate me for being happy.
Life goes on. Why can't we women be kinder to each other?
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