The Curse of the Third Wheel.

No, this isn’t my lame attempt at ripping off Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys, The Bobsey Twins or any number of ‘young adult’ literature – although given my lack of any discernible talent, increasing age and present unemployed status, that’s not such a bad idea for netting me some quick cash. This is, rather, a meditation upon my unwilling Third Wheel status and my arrival here.

For some reason still unknown to me, I am the go-to person when a non-threatening, relatively polite, single, warm body is needed for the purpose of a ‘just-in-case’ excuse on the dates of others. In other words I’m a fucking Third Wheel. I suppose it took me this long to recognize it for what it really is since I’m not in the habit of inviting others to be third wheels at my socialisations. They usually just invite themselves anyway and this always leads me to wonder why on earth people do that. It’s awkward and slightly unpleasant, yet inevitably they are the ones who have a great time.

Like karma, hindsight is such a bitch: the first time I found myself performing chaperone duties, I was in secondary school and hyped because my best friend (who turned out to be seriously scary, batshit crazy) had revealed to me that she was a lesbian and wanted me to meet her girlfriend who she met through a newspaper advertisement. Before long I was refereeing their numerous fights and declining offers to be set up with their friends. Needless to say, the friendship didn’t last, nor did it end well. At all.

Then there was the next best friend; another chick from secondary school. She’d suggest we go hang out at a bar ‘to have a girls’ lime nah’ where her ex-boyfriend would then mysteriously show up and they’d retire to the bathrooms for the next half hour or so.

Well I learnt my lesson from that and was able to avoid the pitfall of the ‘escort-less friend’ for the next couple of years, mainly because I was perfecting the art of being anti-social and also I was quite engrossed in my very active sex life. Oh how I miss the early naughties. Then I got a job. My first job with a liveable salary. And I made friends there. And I ended up with another best friend who turned out to be batshit clingy. Starting to notice a trend, aren’t we?

So this chick ended up with a narcissistic, mommy’s boy jackass for a boyfriend who she absolutely believes is her superior in every way. But whatever, she’s ok with the fact that to him she’s good enough to fuck but not good enough to meet mommy, and I’m ok with the fact that she’s ok with it. But I digress. So at a point in time, I got a lift home with them. Then I got invited to a movie lime. It was excruciating to say the least. They are about as alike as spinach and basketballs – with even less chemistry. So of course I told my friend that hell would freeze over before I ever go out with them again, and this bitch starts whining about how she needs my company because she doesn’t know what to talk to the jackass about; as if that’s my problem. But boy did she make it my problem. She had the nerve to get angry when I declined to accompany them on a trip to Tobago, and then indirectly blamed me because apparently the boyfriend decided to cancel the trip since I wasn’t going.

I left that job to attend school full-time, a move which has also afforded me the opportunity to avoid her more effectively (except for the times the jackass drops her off at my house in order to go bone other chicks), and I have once again inexplicably found myself in the role of the Third Wheel. This time it’s not a best friend scenario – Lord knows I’ve given up on that flawed concept – this one’s a nineteen year old with an underserved sense of entitlement and a brand new older boyfriend. One thing though, at least this one made no illusions as to why she desired my presence; she just didn’t feel comfortable being alone with the guy just yet. Still felt like a Wheel, but I respected her honesty, and on the bright side she hasn’t asked me to chaperone since. I suspect it’s because she has a fair idea of the tongue lashing she would receive but I’m not questioning her decision.

I suppose I should feel flattered that I’ve had friends who considered me trustworthy enough to be privy to their personal issues, but at the same time I wonder at the mental processes of these females who willingly hurtle into relationships with people they may have reservations about. Putting one’s personal safety at risk out of fear of being single seems to me to be too much of a price to pay just for the perceived privilege of being in a relationship. As the saying goes however, to each her own. All I know is that the next time my presence is requested I’m billing those bitches - may as well make a profit from my discomfort.

Moving On – A Shrew’s Rant.

So a couple Fridays ago we visited the chick with the broken leg. She’s fine. Had her surgery and is recuperating now. Now she’s a very pleasant girl and I honestly have no reason to wish ill upon her – and I don’t – but whenever I see her or whenever her medical condition comes up in conversation, all I can think is of how I was previously in her seat, and ergo how close I came to having a broken femur, various lacerations about the body and that pinkish scar tissue on my face (I do have my vanities.)

Now I’ve heard it said - by a couple psychology majors so I’ll take their word for it - that people tend to pull together after experiencing a shared traumatic event. I can dig that. So I can understand that while we were on relatively good terms before the accident, the group really became cohesive after the events of December 22, 2009. The problem is however that I personally think it’s high time we move on from constantly making reference to the bleddy accident already. Seriously.

I am a huge fan of moving on. Dwelling on happenings that have already occurred makes no sense to me. I don’t own a time travel machine, therefore I can’t do anything about what has already happened (and according to these guys I can’t anyway) and therefore I’d rather move on and deal with what’s presently taking place. The ‘shoulda, woulda, coulda’ laments irritate me to no end and are the cause of many, many arguments between Mama Shrew and me.

So there we were, chillin, yappin and playing with a small furry dog, when the driver of the vehicle pulled a flash drive out of his pocket and asked the broken legged chick if she was ready to see ‘the stuff’. Naturally I assumed ‘the stuff’ was either a movie or something pertaining to school. It turned out to be pictures of the wreck and video footage of the area where we ran off the road. I was the only one who made no effort to look at ‘the stuff’. As far as I’m concerned, we’ve already had closure from the first set of pics he showed us. I mean really, how many times are they gonna marvel at the state of the car, or the pole that prevented it from flipping completely over, or any of the myriad factors relating to the accident? And how many freaking pictures does he have of these things?!

I am reminded of the time a couple weeks previously when I was having an MSN conversation with the driver. We were chatting about our academic performances. After about an hour or so I decided that I had had enough and told my usual lie about going to bed early due to fatigue. That is when Mr. Man decided it was the opportune time to draw references between our accident and another that had claimed the lives of the car’s four occupants: they were in a new model Toyota while we in an old model Toyota; their group consisted of 3 guys and a girl, our group was 3 girls and a guy; they were heading to the beach, we were coming back from the beach; their group originally had 5 people, our group originally had 5 people; they were celebrating a birthday, we were celebrating the end of finals. I don’t want to say that he sounded gleeful while checking off the list of similarities because I have been told that I over analyse people’s behaviour (I don’t). I will say though that the bugger sounded smug. Smug as hell. Like it didn’t even occur to him that four sets of parents have to bury their children. Like it didn’t even occur to him that we were almost in that same position. I am always disappointed when I realise how fucking insensitive some people can be.

Suffice it to say I now make myself scarce whenever the topic comes up. Heck it’s not like I don’t have other shit happening in my life that warrant my attention and at the rate they’re going, fifteen years from now they’ll be probably still trading memory accounts of the day.