The Seven Year Itch

In the 1955 comedy "The Seven Year Itch," Tom Ewell's character, Richard, lusts after a new neighbor (The Girl) while his wife and children are on vacation in the country. The new neighbor is none other than Marilyn Monroe, who comes calling wearing a sheepish smile and a white halter dress (now emblazoned as an icon on American pop culture). After spending what viewers can only assume is a generous amount of time with his new neighbor, Richard decides not to have an affair with her because he misses his family, and the film ends as Richard rushes off to Maine to visit them.

I'm sorry, but I have to throw the bullshit flag. First of all, The Girl pretty much throws herself at Richard throughout the film. I doubt any man today could resit Marilyn Monroe; I REALLY doubt that any man in 1955 could have resisted her. Second, even the film's review in Variety expressed disappointment that Richard and The Girl never consummate their friendship (and that was in 1955, remember). In either decade, the more likely outcome of the film's premise is an affair, perhaps not a long-lived one, but an affair nonetheless. Why? Because people are human beings (and thus members of the animal kingdom), complete with faults and weaknesses (such as my weakness for brown eyes) and we're predisposed to make mistakes.

This is why monogamy in practice is a bad idea. In theory, it's great; the notion that there's one and only one "soul mate" out there for everyone, whom we'll all find and spend our lives with, is as romantic and lovely-smelling as baby's breath and lace. However, monogamy in practice completely goes against human nature. For starters, human beings are members of the animal kingdom. Animal instincts are strong and forceful motivators of human behavior, including our need to propagate the species. Granted, our sex drive exists independently of our urge to procreate, but they are intertwined nonetheless. Monogamy not only decreases our odds of procreating successfully, it also hinders the gene pool and fosters segregation. As if these biological nuggets weren't enough, there's more. Monogamy limits and defines the relationships we have with one another (but especially the relationships we have with the opposite sex).

Couples in monogamous relationships are assumed to have some sort of connection, a chemistry that they supposedly don't or can't have with anyone else. While this may be true to an extent, I just can't accept that out of almost seven billion people there's only one with whom I'll have chemistry, only one with whom I'll have a connection, only one with whom I could be happy. Of course, our media certainly doesn't help with this at all (then again, what does our media help with?). The picture of monogamy that the media paints is all rainbows and puppy dogs; the story always ends happily, of course, with the man and woman locked in a passionate embrace, sailing (or riding or driving, or whatever the case may be) off into the sunset. Exaggeration aside, this isn't that far off. Movies always seem to end with a perfect kiss, and audiences are just supposed to assume that the characters live happily ever after. Movies rarely show the actual effort that goes into making relationships last, the give and take, the compromise, the work. The butterflies-inducing chemistry that couples have in the beginning of a relationship only lasts so long, and after it fades away like ink on a yellowed newspaper, then the real work of monogamy begins.

At this point, I'm going to undermine the principles of argumentation and everything I've just said by pointing out that my monogamous relationship has been successful. After seven years, I'm still quite happy and content. However, recent events (not limited to my current lust for one of my students and my recent rediscovery of The Bridges of Madison County) have kept this subject on my mind lately. I'm just bitter that all of my other relationships seem to be defined and limited by the fact that I'm married. If I feel a connection with someone else, I feel guilty, as if I've done something wrong, even if I clearly haven't. Friendships with men seem impossible, as I always feel guilty for spending time with men that aren't my husband. Perhaps if we stopped thinking of relationships in such one-dimensional terms, we'd discover that real relationships and real connections don't just exist between a husband and a wife, but they can (and do) exist between anyone and everyone.