I hate long distance relationships. 

The criteria for being in a relationship includes seeing me doing laundry with my unwashed hair in a ponytail or my not cringing when my boyfriend orders the “everything” bagel that includes garlic at 9am on a Sunday morning. These are the warts and all scenarios that mark a relationship.

On the other hand, is it just geography that determines distance?

I hadn’t seen Penny for three years.  The last time was at a friend’s birthday party and she was happily chirping about the man in her life.

            “Is he here?”

            “No, Vicki.  He’s a merchant seaman.  We only see each other for a few days every four months.”  I thought of a very bad pun; he’s a merchant no-see-man.  I wisely decided not to share it with Penny. 

Yet, I couldn’t help think about all the women I’ve known, (myself included) who have been in long distance romances.  And some of these guys lived only a few blocks away. 

If a couple is geographically separated, the dynamic is based on the big reunion.

“He’s coming to town next week so we have to go to the hottest restaurant and I have to get Broadway tickets for the latest British import.” 

Hopefully, the result is a blissful romantic rendezvous and an excuse to shop at Victoria’s Secret.  It becomes problematic when we start pretending to be serious partners with men we rarely see. Invariably, someone has to make a move but what’s really sad is when you’re not even asked.

So when I ran into Penny on the bus the other day, I was relieved when she told me she had broken up with the merchant marine and was now dating someone at work.

“Wow!  Congratulations!  So now is it hard being with someone you see all the time?”

“Well, not really.  My boyfriend lived with his mother until she died a few months ago.  He’s never really been in a relationship.  It’s very complicated.”

“It’s very complicated.”  A phrase used by millions of women when they are in fucked up situations with men and can not bear to rationalize it to one more person.

Penny went on to say that he went sailing every weekend on a boat he built himself.  “He’s really a brilliant man.”

“You don’t join him?”

“No, he won’t let me.  He has to go alone.” 

“ So, you’re telling me you only see him at work.  Has he ever thought about therapy?”

“We’ve discussed it, but he refuses.  Believe me, we’ve come a long way.”

In the meantime, through osmosis, Penny is earning herself a degree in psycho-pharmacology. 

Before my head exploded, Penny got off at her stop and I calculated that she had spent the last five years with imaginary boyfriends.

As a teenager, I had the eating disorder anorexia nervosa.  One of the scariest aspects of the disease is denial and distorted body image.  You’re a skeleton, yet, when you look in the mirror, you find pockets of fat on your tummy and thighs.  As I thought about my friends’ and my romances, I came to the conclusion that many of the same symptoms apply.  We are in a state of relationship anorexia. 

            We are starving for affection and pretending we’re full and nourished by the crumbs that we’re given. 

For several years, Dan and I dated off and on (another euphemism for a crappy romance). He lived seven blocks from me, yet we would get together only once every week or two for a movie, dinner and great sex.  We had lots in common sharing lengthy discussions about art, politics and the mundane work world. 

I convinced myself that those few hours he spent with me should be enough.  Then he asked me to spend a weekend in the country with him while he house hunted for a weekend retreat.  Two whole days and nights together!  I could barely contain my giddiness.

I was slapped back into reality when, while visiting Jim, a real estate broker, Dan failed to introduce me.  He couldn’t bring himself to bestow on me the title, “girlfriend.” 

Finally, Jim looked my way, and asked, “Are you with him?” An embarrassed Dan mumbled, “Oh sorry, this is Vicki.”    

Despite his apology, things went downhill soon after that.  As in my anorexic days, I had been kidding myself into thinking I was voluptuous and spilling over in my relationship when in fact, I was anemic and emaciated.  Dan and I broke up and I made a commitment to myself. 

No more settling for crumbs; I want to have my cake and eat it too.

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