Dibs

We all know what it feels like to be the third wheel. And the fifth wheel. What about the seventh or the ninth wheel? Do we all know how it feels to be paired up with the bachelor uncle, 20 years senior, when the family pairs off in two? How about getting the couch during the holidays when the other “pairs” retreat to the bedrooms for “private” time? Who said I don’t need “my” “private” “time”? The bathroom is my private time. And who is forced to wake up against their will because the parents can no longer seem to sleep past 5 am? Who is obligated to stand in the center of family photos, due to no other half to make this spinster whole? Who is not referred to in the plural sense because she’s still singular? What about the sole contributor among pairs when splurging for Christmas, birthday and Mother’s day gifts? So the “pairs” get to claim two names as gift giver, and I take my credit, all…to…my….self. Time is not of the essence as a Missus, having no balls (men) and no chains (children); we are on-call at their beck and call. Who has to single-handedly prepare a dinner for the pairs? Who gets the short end of the stick because there are fewer responsibilities like babies and husbands and families? Who seems to get saddled with assignments that require more flexibility, willingness and time? Sometimes it’s okay not to have that +1, other times, it feels like a -1.

And hell yes, next Christmas, I claim dibs!