Right now, I'm sitting in my living room with my laptop. Scattered across the coffee table are two remote controls I don't know how to use, two baseball caps I never wear and two Tylenol tablets I plan to wash down with a Diet Coke. My eyes are heavy, my head is queasy and the less said about the sunlight or the Qdoba burrito in my stomach, the better. I'm hung over on a Tuesday. But it's OK. It's all in a day's work for a world-class third wheel like me.
While not appreciated as much as coupled people, third wheels have long been an important part of our culture. Telemachus stayed in Ithaca and kept an eye on Penelope's suitors while Odysseus was off in Troy; George helped Jerry with his girlfriends on \Seinfeld,"" even John the Baptist knew when Jesus and Mary Magdalene needed a little space. Third wheeling is a part of life, especially in college, when relationships are particularly precarious and need all the incubation they can get.
Being a third wheel has been part of my life since I was 11, when my brother told me he was going to introduce me to his girlfriend and told me to make sure I was extra cute that day. I've been employed for my presentable nature ever since.
But it takes dedication to be a truly great third wheel. It helps to not be a terribly productive person. I may have spent much of the weekend in the library, but on the average Monday night, I'm most likely spending my time watching ""Family Guy"" reruns and eating Goldfish crackers while fantasizing about the things I could accomplish if I ever got off the couch.
That's what Monday night was like when I got the call. My friend called to tell me it was his girlfriend's 21st birthday. Since I'm their official third wheel, I also must work group duty.
He was at her apartment, where he had made apple martinis for her and her friends. Now they were drunkenly headed to the bars and it would be cool if I joined. Translation: He was about to take a gaggle of sloshed women out in public and he needed backup. So I did my job; I put on pants and hit the bars, smiling, joking and buying shots on a Monday night. And I didn't leave until my friend called it a night. His girlfriend had fun, he had a member of his team there to help endure the evening and he made it out of there alive.
Now, some of you might think there's nothing noble about drinking with drunken women on a Monday night. You might say I'm just an alcoholic with a Woody Allen complex. Maybe you're right. But when I wake up dizzy and dehydrated at six in the morning, I know that I helped my friend in his time of need. And I know that when I meet that special lady who shares my affection for ""Family Guy"" and Goldfish crackers, my friend will be there to help me with her drunken friends. But for now, all I've got is a hangover, two Tylenol and a Diet Coke. And in five hours, I'll be ready to travel the beaten path of the third wheel all over again.
