I have to write in regard to the chick who is pissed at her friend for cramming religion down her throat via email. What struck me about her letter was the fact that this woman agreed to be godmother to the kid. It seems that these women would have given more consideration to their offer and acceptance of godmotherhood if one was such a devout Catholic and the other agnostic.

Being a godparent in the Catholic church is somewhat different than this role in other religions. Firstly, it has zippy to do with raising the kid if something happened to the parents. Nothing at all. It has everything to do with a Catholic person helping to raise the kid as a believing and practicing Catholic. Raising the kid with “some type of spiritual beliefs” isn’t an alternative — you go Catholic or you go home. A non-Catholic may be a special “witness” to the baptism, but they are not a godparent.

The writers’ acceptance of this position concerns me for two reasons: 1) Her friend may be trying to convert her to Catholicism through this role, and 2) this kid will be missing out on a godparent who shares their religion, or even a working knowledge of their religion. I know many people will say godparent godschmarent, a godparent is for purely decorative purposes and no one expects anything of them. But the writer should not dismiss this responsibility — as someone who has wonderful godparents and is trying to be a good godparent, I can attest that godparents can be a source of religious guidance that cannot be found in other relationships. Even if the Catholic friend/mom is allowing a lot of leeway with godparenting, the writer should at the very least familiarize herself with what her true role is, and then decide if it’s something she wants.

If I Type “Godparent” One More Time I’ll Explode

I have a situation, and I think I know what you’re going to say, but maybe I shouldn’t presume.

I am 32, and American, in love with an Englishman, 43. H is not perfect, and we have our squabbles, but I love him. I felt that he was the one. We feel the same age to me, and he says the same. We have lots of things in common — basic views on religion, et cetera — things we do to have fun, and we genuinely enjoy each other’s company. As well, we are able to be supportive of one another, during times of work crisis, or when one has a yucky confrontation to get through. Sexually, we have our problems (too much testosterone in one partner, not enough in the other), but we are working on coping with that imbalance in sex drive. I want children, and H is happy with that. I would love for him to be the father of my children.

H has been married and divorced, with one small son from that marriage. H has a stable job, while I am recently out of grad school, post-doc’ing. I moved to London to be with him, getting a post-doc position here (in London). We have been, and are, committed partners.

I’ve been in London for a year, and let me tell you, I dislike London intensely. It’s a bunch of little things that make me uncomfortable. The people seem grumpy and ill-tempered. They don’t look at one another, they won’t greet one another, they don’t smile. I compare Americans to the British (well, Londoners) and god, I miss home. I miss smiling at strangers on the street and having them smile back. I miss having people in the supermarket line strike up a conversation with me. People here find that weird, if a stranger talks to them.

As well, there is this pervasive societal pressure to conform to some standard of appearance, to wit: one should dress in black. If one is female, one should shave, and should color one’s hair in an attempt to look as young as possible. I see people on the train, men and women, not looking one another in the eye, but scrutinizing each other’s appearance closely when they think they are unobserved.

I don’t like how I am/how I feel here. I don’t seem myself (to me). I remember myself as friendly and perky; now I feel grumpy, and uncomfortable wearing red. Perhaps I’m just whining, and I shouldn’t care about these things. In print, they all seem like small things. But I can’t shake my discomfort. I have made friends, but it has been difficult. I usually don’t have trouble making friends, and my trouble with that here has been something I’ve had to adjust to. But that’s okay — I have a friend network now.

I have also observed the children here. They seem, I don’t know, not sweet, more rude. I don’t want to bring up children here.

I have spoken to H about this. We have discussed it many times. H has his good job (that it took him a long time to get) and his son here. I have H here, but also my sense of discomfort, and my unwillingness to bring up my own children here. In the U.S., H would have his own sense of discomfort (probably), would not have his good job (and in his field, as in mine, it is difficult to find a job), and wouldn’t have his son nearby.

A while ago, I suggested a possible compromise: I stay here for several (seven?) years, H’s son grows up a bit (he’s three now), and then we both look for jobs in the U.S. When one of us finds something good, we go. I put off children for several years, starting the process near the end of our time here. I thought this was a plan — not great, but given the constraints on H and me, no solution will be perfect. H and I have been operating on the assumption that we would follow this plan.

In a recent conversation, H said that he couldn’t promise that he would ever go to the U.S. I love this man, but I cannot stay in London.

Now, you might suggest that we move outside of London. We live as close in as we can afford, which is in the suburbs, and entails an hour’s commute to our jobs. It might be that, far outside London, the people turn nicer, the houses are more affordable, and the downside is the increased commuting time and cost. But I think that much more than an hour’s commute is untenable. Neither of us wants to spend much more time on the train than we currently do.

My current position is up in two months. I have been searching for a new position, and I have been looking in London (half-heartedly) and in the U.S. (more-heartedly, but you know, I love H).

A risk-averse strategy would be to give up on H, and get a job at home. My friends all say that I deserve someone who has not been married, has not already had children, is closer to my age, and who does want to live in the U.S. But you know how you say that you’re neurotic and picky? Well, I am too, and H is the first man that I knew I could marry. What would you do?

Sick at heart

I’ve never really asked anyone other than my two best friends on how to deal with my issues…but right now, it seems to include the both of them.

Last year, I was in a relationship with a guy, and I had strayed from them both. Then when he stomped on my feelings like they were nothing, I ran to them, and they accepted me and comforted me. Now, I have an interest in another guy (call him “Davie”), and they say that they “have already lost me ever since I laid an eye on him.” We’ve talked, and I ended up being hurt. I know that their trust in me has been severed, but it seems as though they’re not giving me a chance to rebuild it. I really like the guy too, and right now it seems that I’m failing the “chicks before dicks” testament. They say that to them, it’s like I’m a “whore” (I think this was for a lack of a better word), but to me it’s like I’m just trying to get to know a person.

What can I do? I do not want to lose them because they are the greatest friends in the world to me, but I also really like Davie. Is there anything I can really do?

Torn

When my husband and I met, he was not into sports at all, which thrilled me. Over the past six years, he has become more and more obsessed. He doesn’t play any sports; he just watches them and keeps track of standings and scores, et cetera. That wouldn’t be a problem, except that I have to hear all about it. Every day, I have to hear at least five asinine sports stories that I truly could not care less about.

I have reiterated to him that I do not like sports and do not care about sports and could he please not tell me every single detail about every story he reads, but it keeps happening. What’s a non-sports fan to do?

Is there a diplomatic way to say “I don’t care about your favorite hobby”? Or do I resign myself to nodding and saying “uh huh” for the rest of my life?

Thanks, Sars! You rock!

So Not Sporty

I have a concern that I hope you can help me
with.

See, I’m a girl who’s not really all that girly. I love cars and
power tools, I connect with football in a very deep and visceral way,
I can produce a well-rounded belch on command, et cetera. Most girls
haven’t the slightest idea what to do with me, and I tend to
associate with the boys more often than not, which I think is just
fine. Most of my really close friends are guys, and that works out
well for me.

The problem is this: I like boys, and would like to, at some point,
pursue some sort of more-than-friendly relationship with one. I have
noticed, however, that when I’m getting to know a guy in whom I’m
interested, I tend to sort of blithely march over the line
between “friend that I might like to go out with” and “friend that I
really know too well to date” without even noticing it was there in
the first place. So by the time I feel I’m ready to date him, he’s
usually of the opinion that it would be “weird,” since we’re so close
already. Much aggravation and ennui on my part follows.

So I guess what I’m asking is this: How do I show enough interest in
a guy to let him know I’d like to go out with him without getting too
close to preclude actually dating? (I realize all guys are different
and that they all have unique ways of relating to girls, but any
suggestions you have would be a great help.)

Thanks,
One of the Guys