Brother Husbands: What I learned from my Fauxfile

A lot of crazy things have been going on lately. I feel like Alice, and I just stumbled into a rabbit hole that dropped me smack-dab in the middle of the weirdest soap opera ever conceived.

Where to start? How about the proposal? Yeah, that might be the place.

So, I found out a guy I work with is a polygamist . . . or at least a wanna-be polygamist. Evidently the first gal he and his beloved wife were courting didn't work out. She moved in with them for a while, but (he says) they never consummated the relationship. Now, he didn't say that to my face, 'cuz he doesn't know I know. When I heard about it, I had to find out for myself, so I created a fauxfile (yep, it's becoming a habit) on the same polygamy dating service where he and his wife were registered.

I proceeded to drop the bait--say the things I knew would peak his interest. I wanted to dialog to be sure it was really him and not just someone impersonating him in an effort to sully his reputation. It didn't take long to confirm that it was indeed my colleague. The problem at this point became the fact that I don't really exist. I know this guy, and I'm not out to destroy him or to lead him on, or to break his heart or anything like that. I just wanted to know. (I felt I needed to know because the nature of our working relationship could be interpreted as implying my endorsement of his ethics.)

Now I know, but that knowledge didn't come without it's "baggage". . . the by-product of my investigative performance was an invitation--you might say a proposal--to move in with him and his wife and "try it out." He said he wanted to spoil me and the baby. (Did I forget to mention that I told him I was pregnant? I had heard that he wanted kids, so I thought that would be a nice touch.) Once again: "Oh, the tangled web we weave . . ."

How has this affected my real life interactions with Bradley (we'll call him Bradley. I don't think I've used that name yet.)

Well, I must admit it's been a bit awkward. There have been times when I've thought I slipped up and some hint may have seeped though to reveal my ploy. The crazy thing is the emotional contortions that have accompanied all of this. I've had to deal with my thoughts, feelings, beliefs on the issue, and they have been all over the map. Maybe I'll get into the depths of the issue in a later blog, but for now I just want to say that I have problems with it. Or perhaps I should be more specific and say that I have problems with polygyny (the most commonly practiced form of polygamy--in which one husband has multiple wives).

In researching the subject, I discovered that it's not just Mormons in America who are into this practice for religious reasons. There seems to be a movement of spiritualizing polygamy among people of varying religious persuasions. I used to think it was just a matter of "baptizing horniness," but I've stumbled upon supposedly deeper reasons people have for condoning and pursuing this practice. The reason I find most disturbing is the one they use to answer the objection critics raise regarding jealousy. When asked, "Won't the wives be jealous of each other because they have to share such an intimate relationship with others?" the pious polygynists rave about the benefits of learning to overcome this "sin" of jealousy. Apparently this is a problem unique to women because they are the ones who must be refined by this process, while their men bounce blissfully from bed to bed.

WHAT? If anyone needs practice in overcoming jealousy it's men. They are freaking territorial! I mean, they would pee on their doorsteps to mark their territory if they weren't afraid of "the look" they'd get from us (the keepers of the vaginas). They are green-eyed monsters when it comes to sharing their women! How about some religions in America that focus on overcoming that little character flaw?!! [*10/13/11 -- see note in comments below for clarification]

Some argue that men aren't naturally monogamous. But they think women are more so by nature? Without religion to direct us, the only reason women appear to be more bent toward monogamy is that we get tied down by rugrats so it's not as practical to roam. That doesn't mean we aren't ever tempted ourselves. Remember the temporary insanity with Charlie, when I said I didn't necessarily want to leave Todd and break up our family, but "I fantasized about having two houses next door to one another--one to house one of my families and one for the other. In one I would only be a mommy and in the other I would be both mother and lover"?

I've been joking for a long time about starting a polyandrous sect (as in Brother Husbands). In theory, that would allow us to be a multiple income family without me even needing to work . . . I could invest more time with the children, delve into all the hobbies I've longed to spend more time on--my art and poetry, get pampered at the day spa, and never be short-changed on sex due to football season (make sure there's at least one who doesn't like each sport).

Work-aholic husbands? No problem! The more the merrier! Just bring in the bacon and I'll never whine about "You're not there for me enough" -- I've got Pierre and Johnny and Byron to keep a smile on my face, so I'll be happy when you do manage to find time to come home from the office.

Sounds like a much better deal to me than sharing the house with Sister Wives. I mean, women can be real bitches to live with. But the woman who is treated like a goddess tends to act like one, too.

Don't Go Breaking My Heart - Part 5 (Watch out for the Loonies - Part 2)

Ooops, did I leave you hanging? Who is "you" anyway? I doubt anyone's even reading this, but if you are, you may recall I said I was going to list some of the lunatic things I've done when it comes to men & relationships. Here goes:

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I once replied to a newspaper ad placed by a strange man looking for someone to carpool with him over several state lines -- just to save a few bucks over the price of a bus ticket.

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I used to go out dancing with my roommate while we were both engaged. We would wear gloves because we were cool and fashionable that way, and when guys would try to pick us up we'd tell them we were engaged. They'd look at our hands ready to say, "I don't see any ring," and the gloves would throw them off. "How do I know you have a ring on with those gloves?"

"You don't know."

"Are you trying to cover it up and just don't like ME?"

"Hmm."

It drove them batty. Apparently one night some of these boys we liked to toy with like cats play with mice watched us go out to my roommate's truck and memorized the look or the plate number.

A day or so later, we found a note on the windshield that said, "We drove all over the city looking for you two. Please go out with me and my friend."

Hey, I just realized that we weren't total lunatics in this story because we never did call the number they left. In fact, it did kind of freak us out that they knew where our neighborhood was. Luckily nothing ever came of it.

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In college, I was fearful of so many things. One was appearing like one of those ditsy girls who "likes" everything a particular guy likes just because he likes it and she wants him to like her. I couldn't see how any intelligent guy (the only kind I liked) would not see right through that facade. I used to go to the mall with the guy I was head-over-heels in love with (we were "just friends"). I remember walking through the home goods section of a department store and [let's call him] Doug pointed out a set of glass bowls that he liked. I think I got a lump in my throat when he asked me if I liked them. I adored them. They were exactly what I would pick out if I had my choice. In fact they were better than I had even known existed. Did I tell him? Oh, no, that might appear shallow or pandering, so I just swallowed and said as blankly as I could, "they're nice." Things like this happened frequently with Doug.

I wasn't so shy about our differences. When we were going to the house of some married friends off campus, to cook a meal, we stopped at the grocery store on the way. As we tried to decide what to cook, I readily voiced my distaste for certain foods he suggested. I guess I was so bold about letting my contrary opinion be known that he finally stopped in the middle of the aisle, looked me straight in the face and said, "I could never marry you, Bridgett Monroe! You are too picky." There went every last bit of air out of my lungs. The 'just friend' I was in love with, who I wanted to be with for the rest of my life, had just told me what? How should a girl reply to that kind of a blow? Well, since somewhere in my sadly shaped mind I had come to believe that letting a guy know you like him was like chasing him and chasing him would only lead to him running away, I had to play it cool.

"Well then don't," I replied.

Another time we were sitting together in the library, studying, and out of the blue, Doug said, "What would you think of being married to a journalist?" [hint: guess what Doug's major was.] There was that lump in the throat again. What did I say?

Short and not so sweet was my answer to the young man I dreamed of being married to: "I guess it would depend on who the journalist was."

He went on to clarify the question, saying, "In my journalism class we were talking about dangerous assignments that many journalists have to take in order to further their careers and how such things can be hard on their families."

I went home that evening and called my mom. I asked her what she thought about that question Doug had asked--was he talking about what girls in general thought or was he interested specifically in what I thought about it? I think my mom was fearful, too. She knew how much I liked Doug, and she didn't want to get my hopes up only to be crushed, so she said she thought he was probably just curious about what females in general thought of that career choice. I bought her safe explanation hook, line, and sinker... and it shaped the way I continued to interact with my best 'just friend.'

The results were tragic. More about that next time.