While watching 1980’s TV in syndication, and a few of the more current offerings, I’ve discovered an important piece of cultural doctrine.  Unlike the days of courting in the family room under the watchful eye of grandmothers & little brothers, we are now expected to be in bed (ahem) on the third date.   From Seinfeld to Friends to M.A.S.H., in Two and a Half Men, Bones and CSI, the third date is declared the time for the ultimate commitment.  That is, says our culture & media, unless you’re one of those few weird people.

Once upon a time, and in a few other cultures, the bedroom was a perk of being married, right up there with the big party and three shiny new toasters.   It was the last bastion of privacy, surrendered between two people who have sworn before God, family, and friends that they will share it with no others.   But, that’s old hat these days.

It crossed my mind this morning, if we’re to behave as a married couple as of the third date, there are a few other items of business.  Starting with the third date, my boyfriend should start carrying groceries up three flights of stairs and help me put them away.  He needs to take over the responsibility of keeping both cars maintained and full of gasoline.  The quarters from his pocket get dumped into the container I keep for laundry money.  Oh, and that paycheck? Yeah – it doesn’t get spent on 3 other cuties at the bar next Tuesday, it goes into the joint account for the payment of utilities, groceries, rent/mortgage, and student loans.

After all, if we’re gonna break out the marriage perks on the third date, there are a few things I’ve been looking forward to.  (Sweetie, you might as well buy me those two rings, and you better believe we’re going to have the big party, and you’re gonna dance – with me.)