White Picket Fences

That era is supposed to be over,

both the propagation of the myth,

and the rebellion against it.

And yet…

We still recognize it

We still discuss it

And some of us still expect it.

Maybe the only real evolution in our collective thinking

is that the fence now comes is different shapes and sizes?

Maybe since we can’t let it go, we’ve changed the meaning of the metaphor;

the fence is a guide to identify unreasonable relationship expectations?

“She was looking for me to provide the whole picket fence thing…”

“He built a white picket fence so that he could chain me to it…”

“I’ve made my own picket fence, so I don’t have to depend on anybody…”

When I hear things in threes I tend to pay attention. My ears perk up and my mind color codes the moment.  This is part of the deal with being socially uninhibited. The pact I made with my creatress: give me the social grace to converse with anyone at anytime in anyplace and I promise to be a good listener.

I am partial to the third sentiment, though it is a gate more than a fence that I use as the metaphor for my own domestic fantasy. I may invite you in, I may also escort you out, and my own white picket fence stays intact. Maybe a stubborn lover carves some initials in a post, but the post remains. A little wear and tear is expected, but I am the one responsible for the upkeep.

White Picket Fences