Cherries in the Snow

Like the desktop shortcuts on a PC, relationship titles become a cut to the chase. But is it a chase right out of a really good relationship or a heads up to get out of Dodge?

Why are these shortcuts, which are supposed to make everything easier for everyone, turned into something so complicated that even Houdini couldn’t find his way out?

Take the title “Girlfriend” or “Boyfriend” (Don’t even touch “Lover”, a king-size blow torch ready to ignite, unless you live in Europe). You are now in scary territory; the fence is closing around you and you can almost hear the clank of the cold gates of Sing Sing.

But what if the safest and coziest place is on the inside of the fence? A corral of expected expectations? What if the fence is chain link, so you can continue to view the outside world and confirm just how nice it is to know what can be relied upon? How sane to not reinvent the wheel.

Everything has a name but we don’t usually involve ourselves based on the moniker. No, we use other senses to make a judgment call on whatever it is that warrants our interest. Take Revlon’s “Cherries in the Snow". It’s red nail polish. That’s it; nothing to do with cherries, snow, or cherries in the snow.

A relationship sans name doesn’t bother us at first; we don’t even notice for a few months. We enjoy the ride. Then, like a love sick teenager drawing little hearts all over a folder, we have to bestow a title to know where we are. Give a relationship a name, rank and serial number, and suddenly the water is rising and the boat has a leak.

Take Fay Wray and King Kong. Besides the obvious size issue, they didn’t stand a chance. No one let them decide how to define their relationship themselves. Just gave it a name, enough rope, and watched it hang itself on top of the Empire State Building.

And, close on the heels of the official naming, come the official words. Why does “I love you” up the anxiety factor, so much so that we may back up when we don’t really want to? Like the ghost of old graffiti showing through fresh new paint, our past pain will be there. It is part of the landscape of our hearts, not the whole country.

Chilled poached chicken breast on a bed of mixed greens, with tarragon champagne vinaigrette. Mmmm! Sounds good and you know exactly what you are getting. It will taste like chicken because it is chicken. Apparently everything tastes like chicken, but hey, what a concept! Since we have the ability to define precisely what a relationship means to each of us, there is no need to accept shrimp on a stick when anticipating chicken. Enjoy your chicken, finger licking good, smile and feel the joy of a new love with a healthy side of optimism.

Have a naughty day!