Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it. - Proverbs 22: 6

Do you want to know where my eye goes to every single time a big name heterosexual male fffffinds* himself entangled in some lewd public scandal? Their female partner.
Fun fact: I possess the superpower of drowning out most chaos. In the context of this post, the chaos I tend to halfheartedly observe surrounds the public response to an insert famous, scandalized straight male public figure name here's gross impropriety du jour. Rather than glomming my attention onto the male, I often find myself focusing a perceptive eye upon their (more often than not) female partner's presence.

Where before she was shrouded in a proverbial cone of silence, her figure will suddenly become matter of Great Public Importance and Prying Dissection™ - she  will become a household name faster than Beyoncé can break the internet.

Usually, this process occurs during a brand clean up, mea culpa tour; you know, some form of a Public Announcement of Contrition and A Promise to Do Better™ speech and/or press conference.*


Either way, their newfound public prominence will probably assist a paparrazo put their kid through college or help a journalist pay off their student loans.

They'll be the hottest thing on the block.

To clarify any confusions about my ensuing diatribe, I saw A Star is Born today. Where everyone around me was a melting puddle of tears by the end, I found myself distracted and withdrawn from the narrative - mind wandering in detached nonchalance and mild annoyance around the film's final 15 minute mark.

Though I had, to my credit, valiantly attempted to invest interest in the romantic relationship of the two protagonists, I had given up on any reason to root for their love approximately 40 minutes into the story.

I simply could not be bothered to care for yet another mea culpa kick off tour.

See, I have no longer found intrigue in witnessing a crumbling man work overtime to emotionally manipulate and shatter the world of his devotedly pristine, poised and unflinching woman.

I do not find marvel in watching a woman's victimhood suffocate and/or become overshadowed by her man's selfish behaviors.

Everyone was crying and I was mad.

So let's circle back to my original point: the often silent presence of the Stepford Wife to the aforementioned "big name male".

Those women have always served as a reminder of something I have ran from. Because standing there solemn-faced, nary a hair nor thread out of place as they personify absolutely unwavering support - is my worst nightmare.

The female partner who has done her duty and buried any perceptible emotion that is not Dutiful WAG™/Stepford Wife. 

The embodiment of one of my many romantic fears.

A living symbol of the shitty role I was, have been and will be expected to play within my own intimate relationships with men.

A fear which sits so heavy upon my chest and is jump started by one question:

So there I sat in the theater - mad.

Mad at the astounding fragility of the male ego, the steadfast unwillingness to seek permanent help, the co-dependency, narcissism and, most importantly, yet another image of the selfish, mildly abusive husband and his wife - the strong, poised, almost pillar of salt.

The nursemaid to the child.

The dock by which he was told to tether his boat to in an attempt to live out the promise of a life of unchallenged happiness.

The little boy who was incapable of being the anchor his wife needed.

And despite her many attempts at 'saving' him, at holding him down - still he floated adrift and wayward.

And yet in spite of the many justifiable reasons to leave, the many red flags which went thoroughly ignored, there she stood at the dock - locked in place - his anchor, waiting for him through it all.