Margit’s Note: The Wife Issue

By Margit Detweiler

(Photo: Nancy Gonzalez/TueNight)

“This is my wife…”

At a cocktail party, the phrase is inserted before my name.

It says, “I go with this person.” Does it immediately imply I make casseroles and iron shirts? No, but roles have been identified and a claim has been staked. This is my territory, these are my Hawaiian Islands, there is a fence, watch out for the moat.

The word “Wife” is beyond loaded, as we’re exploring this week — and as we’ve debated for decades.

Personally, I struggle less with the word than with the activities it implies. And I don’t mean doing dishes or sewing buttons. After I got married, there was suddenly a ridiculous new assumption (not from my husband, mind you) that I would be the one to remember details and follow-up on things — birthdays, thank you notes, vacation details. People would suddenly connect with me about activities that had to do with both of us, or even just my husband. I was suddenly the Julie McCoy of our partnership. Little did they know, I will almost always accidentally direct you to Isaac’s bar instead of the Captain’s table. Does that make me a bad wife? No, just one that doesn’t have enough brain space to remember everyone’s dang birthday.

Here are this week’s Wifely tales:

• Julie Parr becomes a wife after ticking off everything else.
• Kathleen Warner would prefer not to be Mrs. Him.
• Kate Davis is finally allowed to become a wife.
• Jennifer Ha would like you to pick up after yourself, thank you.
• In Front to Backlist, Bethanne Patrick reviews literary wives.
• Amy Vernon ditches it all and goes to Vegas.

And from around the web, a few wife-related tidbits:

• Yesterday the concept was hot in the Twittersphere for an ill-conceived Nine West ad campaign touting the perfect-for-husband-hunting shoe. *Sigh* Miles to go…
• Someday the term wife might become a thing of the past as Millennials and younger generations are balking at marriage.
• We mentioned them before, but we’d be remiss not to point you in the direction of the feminist (yes, I said it) awesomeness that is Wifey.tv.

Till death do we part,

Margit