8:15. A balmy evening in February, the kind we’ve been having since global warming began. As usual, I’m standing around, wondering when Jonathan is going to show up. He’s already fifteen minutes late.
8:17. At least I’ve stopped wondering why I always get involved with the wrong man, why I constantly find myself in destructive relationships. I used to think it was my fault. Then I read this book. Suddenly, I understood: He can try to deny it, but my father is an alcoholic. And I am an adult child of an alcoholic.
My father has never thought that he was an alcoholic. Yet, when I was growing up, he had to have a drink every night when he came home from work. Guess who fixed it for him. He called it a “Jeanie.” After me. I’ve tried to help Dad face up to what he is, and I feel good about my efforts.
Jeanie! One drink! One little drink! One drink a night does not an alcoholic make!
Dad, you had to have it.
Of course I had to! If you knew the pressures of Unit-Sales Management—
I’m in Retail Dispersal, and you won’t find me drinking.
Then I’d come home to “When are we going to get a new washing machine? How are we going to pay for Jean’s education and take that trip to Europe? What do you think of this hairdo?” Your mother had a million questions. But you. You were so mature for your age. You were there to listen. I never needed to go out and find a bartender to talk to. Not when I had my Jeanie.
Stop trying to implicate me in your behavior! I will not be your co-denier!!
The olive has always been my favorite part!
8:21. Jonathan shouldn’t keep me waiting for dinner. He knows I’m hypoglycemic, even though he refuses to believe it. He thinks hypoglycemia was invented to annoy him. All those people who weren’t really hypoglycemic gave it a bad name. You’d be at an art gallery with them, or you’d be trying on a pair of slacks, or you’d be talking about something that interested you. Out of the blue, they’d announce that they were having a hypoglycemic attack. They absolutely had to eat that minute or else they were going to faint. And it would all be your fault. Of course, they weren’t hypoglycemic at all. They were just manipulative. I take responsibility for my own hypoglycemia. I always bring food with me.
8:25. These really are pretty good cookies. Macadamia nuts have a particularly stabilizing effect on my blood sugar. So does guacamole, come to think of it. Too bad it’s so hard to pack in a shoulder bag. The important thing is, I’m calmer.
I’m convinced that stress is the No. 1 factor in causing hypoglycemia. The stress from your job, the stress of being in a relationship, the stress of parents. Simply having parents is stressful.
8:30. The worst part of being an adult child of an alcoholic is that I always find myself in relationships with passive-aggressives. How hard it is to tell if a man is a passive-aggressive! At first, they seem perfect. They listen to you, they let you take charge. You want to discuss feminist issues? They don’t get threatened; they smile.
Then. Then the other behavior begins. The endless waiting—you waiting for them. I was involved with this P.-A., Tim. I had to be the one to decide that it was time for us to take a vacation, where we’d go, how we’d get there. He waited until we were at the airport to assert himself, just as they were giving the final boarding call. He said he needed to buy a copy of GQ, and he wandered off. He never showed up on that flight. I got on the plane anyway, and had the worst hypoglycemic attack of my life. As soon as I landed in Oaxaca, I had to eat five orders of guacamole to get myself to the point where I could breathe regularly. I couldn’t look at an avocado today if it weren’t for how they stabilize me.
Tim showed up at the hotel room fifteen hours later with a big smile on his face. I threw all of the chocolate flan I was eating right at him—and flan is a major source of simple carbohydrates. He wiped the chocolate off and proposed to me on the spot. It doesn’t take much to figure this one out. He’d driven me crazy and turned me into an exact replica of his mother, punishing him with my tears and my rage. Do I have to say anything more about men who want to marry their mothers?
Jonathan is also a P.-A. We’ve been engaged for three years. He hasn’t actually asked me to marry him—he’s trying to enrage me first, by making me wait for his offer. But I’m smarter than I was in Mexico. I know how to hold my own in these relationships. I simply tell everyone he’s my fiancé.
8:42. Jonathan thinks this is going to make me upset. I’m not upset. He can get here whenever he wants. He knows I’ll just stare at him over dinner.
8:46. I’m down to half a cookie and three seaweed chips. This is precisely the kind of predicament Jonathan likes to put me in. If I leave to find a deli, he’ll show up and I’ll be gone, and when I return he’ll say, “What do you mean I’m late? You weren’t even here!”
The other night I saw a double bill of Sally Field and Julia Roberts trying to get away from their husbands. Sally’s trapped in Iran, and Julia’s stuck somewhere out on the Cape. Meanwhile, I’m sitting in the theater, waiting for Jonathan.
8:48.23. People come and go, and my purse is devoid of nutrition. A man is standing two and a half feet from me, three inches into my personal-interaction area. Why do men do these things? This is not Jonathan, but this is a P.-A. That’s why he’s thumbing through the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, introducing a monokinied Elle Macpherson into my field of vision. This is a very angry man. If he were an aggressive-aggressive, he’d be doing something about his anger. He’d be out raping women. But oh, no, you’re just a passive-aggressive, so you’re standing here, shoving that magazine in my face, trying to make me feel bad about my body! I don’t know why! I never saw you before! Well, you’re not going to make me feel bad about my eating needs!
I can’t believe it. Jonathan has me setting a new record. This is the worst hypoglycemic attack of my life. Either that, or it’s the earthquake they are always predicting for New York City. Or maybe the ice caps have finally melted.
I will survive this. I deserve to survive this. I recycle! I buy only environmentally sound products for my cleaning lady to use! I eat only animals that have had the chance to move around a bit in their lives! Yes, I use sunblock that’s been tested on cocker spaniels, but I think that’s excusable! I deserve to have my co-op stay above water level!
Dad, this is all your fault!
Jeanie! One drink!
I think it would be better for our relationship if I forgot your next birthday.
One little drink!
What about my needs?
8:53. These Korean grocery stores are always so busy, but I am entitled to stand here and eat. God, I love Ben & Jerry’s. It’s true, though, what the books say about other men. They just don’t have it in them to give me what I need. I must empower myself. With every spoonful of Heath Bar Crunch, I am becoming stronger.
Jeanie!
You had your chance, Dad.
Jonathan can wait for me forever on that street corner, as far as I’m concerned. Because Ben and Jerry care. They care about the future of this planet. Every time you eat their ice cream you are also helping to save the rain forest. Ben and Jerry care about sustainable agriculture. They care about their employees. They care about educating visitors to their factory in Vermont. And they want me to become my own person.
1991