This week in classic Carolyn fashion, I went to an event alone. Don’t worry, I posted an Instagram story in case I went missing.
On Tuesday evening at the historic Strand bookstore, Patricia Marx and Roz Chast gathered to chat about their new book, You Can Only Yell at Me for One Thing at a Time: Rules for Couples. Their book, written by Patricia, illustrated by Roz, includes nuggets of wisdom and advice for couples, especially those who live together.
I was familiar with Roz’s work. I read about her first in Mike Sack’s Poking a Dead Frog: Conversations with Today's Top Comedy Writers and have followed her cartoons in The New Yorker since. And even though I stepped into the event unfamiliar with Patricia (former writer on Saturday Night Live, contributing writer to The New Yorker and author of several other books), I left slightly obsessed with both. Watching Patricia and Roz felt special. Like one of those ‘New York moments’ without Woody Allen (thank God).
With my resistance to coupling and cohabitating at an all time high, I half-expected to experience the event with jaded eyes. I expected cheesy sitcom one liners about ‘not going to bed angry’ or something else Patricia Heaton might yell to Raymond*. But, like all sitcom husbands, I’m an idiot. I should have known Patricia and Roz would be well-versed in the art of sarcasm, reality and the annoying nuances of love.
Sexual favors in exchange for cleaning up the cat vomit is a good and fair trade.
Trying to park with your spouse in the car is like brushing your teeth in front of the dental hygienist.
If either of you has a chance with Michelle Obama, go for it.
Plus, even though intended for couples of the romantic kind, their advice could apply to all relationships. Coupled or not, we all have loud breathers and hoarders in our lives.
But what was more impressive than Patricia and Roz’s ability to make fun of the ‘ick’ and ‘awe’ moments of relationships, was their relationship with each other. The two’s years of professional collaborations (Why Don't You Write My Eulogy Now So I Can Correct It?: A Mother's Suggestions) made more sense as I witnessed their back and forth, BFF banter.
I specifically watched the other as the opposite spoke. Their eyes, their smile, their focus was always present in their own observations. When Roz struggled to spit out an anecdote about her father and Chinese food because she was laughing too much, Patricia looked on in admiration. They were each other's self-proclaimed sous chefs.
I left warmed by their friendship and thought of my own, especially that of my two best friends. The three of us share a group text. In it we run the gamut of jokes, complaints, advice, selfies, ramble dambles and Updates You Didn’t Ask For (those are the rambly videos that end up lasting longer than 6 minutes).
Sometimes I look back and scroll through it like a Netflix menu. ‘Oh, she said something really funny that day. Ima watch that.’ Sometimes I walk around Target filming my lotion options, ‘Guys, why are night creams so expensive, help!’ Sometimes our chat is the first thing I look at when I wake up. I’ll sit in bed drinking my coffee the self-timer so thoughtfully brewed, scrolling and and laughing my morning away. They’re my morning kiss.
My best friends fill in the spaces that so often partners are held responsible. Partners can’t always fill the gaps that BFFs can so if you have to fill them elsewhere - do it! I think one of the reasons living single for long hasn’t felt like a continuous Morrissey lyric is because of the fulfillment I find with my friends. I may be single but I’m still intimately sharing my life.
The three of us may never collaborate artistically like Patricia and Roz but I think we’re still just as solid. Some relationships have babies, some have books, and others have group texts.
*I think Everybody Loves Raymond is a decent show