Deborah Siegel
Love in the Time of Layoff: A Gentle Response to Joe the Trader
In his post this week, Joe the Trader chronicles a meeting of the He-Man’s Unemployment Club. Roberto is the one who dumps the lunch he brings from home. Joe complains about picking up the iron and recycling the trash. Their girlfriends and wives, they say, spend too much on soy lattes and artisanal cheeses. I do love Joe’s humor—and I truly hope the gecko survives the downturn.
Yet like that New York Times article Joe gripes about, in which a stay-at-home Wall Street wife considers divorcing her unemployed husband because he can no longer deliver coin, Joe falls back on some too-easy stereotypes himself.
Love in the Time of Layoff: Helicopter Spouse
Earlier this week I received a comment that both touched and saddened me. Writes nelson46, in response to my
recent posts on standing by my jobless man:
“Is my wife’s need to exclaim disdain (never ending) so immature?”
I looked up “disdain” in the dictionary and found this: “extreme contempt or disgust for something or somebody,” “to regard something or somebody as not worthy of respect.”
I feel…
Love in the Time of Layoff: Take This Heart and Shove It
It’s been a month since my husband Marco’s ex-firm broke up with him. And, like a romantic breakup, it takes time to heal—for us both.
I was on the road to such healing, eating ice cream in the middle of the day, when the doorbell rang. I finished a work call and opened the door. It was…
Love in the Time of Layoff: Two’s a Crowd
Last month, I was part of a dynamic duo excited about the prospect of upgrading to a two-bedroom apartment in Park Slope or Hudson Heights where I could have a little more space in which to write and we could start our family. But now, with my husband Marco newly laid off, I’m insta-primary breadwinner.
And here’s the thing. I am a card-carrying, credentialed feminist. I’m equipped to earn, and I do. So it freaks me out, a little, that I’m so freaked out about this sudden shift in our roles.
Love in the Time of Layoff: Honey, They Shrunk My Job
Ten in the morning and the phone rings. Marco’s voice sounds wrong. “Are you ok?” I ask. “Not really,” he says. And in the next breath, he shares the news. “I just got laid off.”
Silence on my end. Shock, dread, then sudden relief. At least he hasn’t been hurt, or told me that someone died. But wait—this is really, really bad news. Laid off. Laid off. What kind of phrase is that anyway? How are we going to make it on just my freelance income? How will we buy that stroller for the as-yet nonexistent kid we’ve been trying to have? Does this mean I have to learn to cook? Mortgage payments. Utility bills. All I can muster is a lame “Oh. My. God.” And later, “I love you.”
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