Today I'm honored to offer you my second guest blog.  Rachel Rosenthal is a professional comedian/improviser/instructor living in New York City.  She's also an unbelievably compassionate human who held the chuppah at my wedding. If you want to know more about her (or take one of her classes) go to www.Theraeroshow.com!  Without further ado
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I’d like to talk a little bit about faith. I’m not talking about religious faith or faith in God. I’m talking about faith in humanity. The kind of faith that I have had since I was a little girl: the faith in the goodness of others. My belief has always been that people are inherently good. Why do I have this faith? Good question. I think I’m going to thank my parents for that - because truth be told, I have had some pretty strong life experiences that should’ve steered my beliefs otherwise. But my faith has remained - and I’ve held strong that at the root of most humans is goodness; that if given the choice, we would choose to treat others well.

Well, people of New York. You have killed that faith. Dating, specifically has killed that faith.

One of the most common responses I get when someone hears that my graduate research concerned romantic relationships and marriage is, "So, it's like, 'Happy wife, Happy life.' AmIRight?" Most of the time it's a guy who's faux-asking the question whilst simultaneously patting himself on the back prematurely.

Generally speaking, I no longer want to be a part of the conversation at this point so I nod and smile and agree and walk away with a, "Oh totally! You nailed it, man. You've got marriage figured."  It makes em feel good and gets me that hell out of there.  The truth, as always, is a bit more complicated.

It's at this point that I have to jump in quickly to say that there is a heteronormative assumption being made when we talk about marriage as a negotiation between a man and a woman.  I want to say explicitly that homosexual couples, not having well-worn societal gender stereotypes to lazily fall into, generally do better in dividing the labor of housework equitably in a manner that makes both partners happy.  Without stereotypes to rely on, each partner gravitates towards what they enjoy more/have more competency in.  For the rest of this blog post, we'll be dealing with heterosexual couples when talking about marital couples. But, this doesn't mean to devalue all other forms of love because, frankly, heteros ain't all that.

Taken at face value, "Happy Wife, Happy Life" tends to hold up. The truth of the statement, however, isn't half as important as understanding the mechanism of action at work behind the scenes. Women, both historically and still today, doing more than half the domestic work.  This includes cooking, cleaning, laundry, yard work, trash takeout, etc.  Women, even and especially working women, demolish their male counterparts on time spent doing housework.  By how much?  I'm glad you asked.

When I was 16, the majority of my best friends lived in New York State, with me living a stone's throw over the Massachusetts border.  Six months later when I got my first car, a used, light blue, 1986 Volvo 740 GLE that I called the Matt-Mobile, I was off.  Every weekend that didn't involve a family or sport's committment, I hopped in my freedom ride and took to the relatively open road of Route 20, headed toward Albany.

I loved driving. I didn't need a souped up engine under the hood or a flashy spoiler on my trunk to enjoy the experience of getting behind the wheel.  Rolling down the windows was enough for me.  The act of driving meant that I, for the first time in my life, got to choose my own destination.  I was no longer at the mercy of car pools, ride shares, and asking my parents for a lift to the mall.  The independence my vehicle afforded me helped guide me in the direction of the future I wanted for myself, which I had not found in Pittsfield's Wendy's or Dunkin' Donuts' parking lots.  I know, cause that's where i looked during most lunch hours throughout high school.

My Dream Car: 1970's BMW 2002 -Daytona Orange

Somewhere along the double yellow lined highway of life, I started to enjoy my time behind the wheel less and less. There were a bunch of factors. I drove across the country six times. My back turned on me, making sitting for long periods of time painful. When I lost a great deal of sight in my right eye a few years ago, it was the final nail in the coffin for driving as anything other than a means of getting me from place to place.