Mindy Kaling - Searching for Coach Taylor

Text copyright 2020 by Mindy Kaling

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Published by Amazon Original Stories, Seattle

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eISBN: 9781542017220

Cover photo by Mike Rosenthal

Cover design by Liz Casal

Illustrations by Abbey Lossing

A Little Bit Sweaty

T he other day I was at a party in the Hollywood Hills. It was unlike most parties in the Hills in that it was for a two-year-old, but it was just like most parties in the Hills in that I was the only single mom present. Yes, this happens a lot, but its not a big deal to me. Its like being Indian or a woman in comedyI think about it way less than other people do, so Im sometimes surprised to see that its a big part of my deal to the outside world. What I do notice, more and more, is how my presence has an effect on some of the other nonsingle parents, and their compulsion to make me feel more comfortable.

The other moms started to engage in what I call pity-pattersmall talk filled with little bits of pity sprinkled in, and delivered to me so as not to be overtly apparent but also be very clear: I pity your single mom existence, so Im going to make you feel better by complaining about my coupled lifestyle.

I actually think that its coming from a good place. Ill be the first to admit that single moms can be perplexing as hell. Were overextended, guilt ridden that were not successfully embodying two perfect parents, and a little bit sweaty. These also happen to be the qualities that make us super effective. If you see a single mom without armpit stains, it probably means her kid is off at college. (Before my fellow single moms get mad at me, hear me out. Just because we are overextended and a little bit sweaty, doesnt mean we cant be sexy, loving, and total boss bitches. We just have to plan a little more, thats all.)

Anyway, back to pity-patter. It goes like this: Mindy, youre so luckyI swear my husband is more work than my kids... Youre so luckyif I have to thank or compliment my husband for wiping my kids nose again, Im going to lose my mind.

This is a sophisticated psychological mind game, so let me break down how it works: Married mom complains to the single mom about her husband, feigning desire to be single in an attempt to make the single mom feel better about being husband-less. Unfortunately, what comes across is the opposite and actually makes the single mom feel worse. Look, we know that you feel so superior being married that you can conversationally toss around the idea of detesting your husband and wishing he were dead because the opposite is so clearly true. You dont wish he were dead; you love him. If you really wished he were dead, you wouldnt go around saying it like some absolute psycho. Its like me joking around that I hate Dick Wolf procedural crime dramas when we all know I treasure them more than my family.

But with pity-patter, I always end up with that horrible feeling that the minute those couples get back into their Tesla SUVs, the wife says, Oh, I feel so bad for Mindy. Im so glad that I have you. And then the husband gets his pity hummer because theyre so turned on by my loneliness. Pity is the absolute worst, and nobody wants to feel pitied. But sometimes I have to wonder if they really do pity me, or if something else is going on. Women are smart. Married women must know that when they trash their husbands, we interpret it as a sign of their love and deep companionship, making us feel worse about being single. And if they know this, then the only reason they would say anything is if for some reason they actually wanted us to feel worse about being single. And the only reason theyd want us to feel worse about being single is if they were secretly jealous. So maybe pity-patter isnt pity at all, but actually envy disguised as pity disguised as goodwill and kindness?

You can see I think about this stuff a lot. Maybe too much.

Being single, and being a single mom, is really complicated. Sometimes its the most liberating and lucky feeling in the world. Sometimes I am just so grateful to be an independent woman doing what I want, when I want, that I could cry with gratitude. I cant believe the shit my married female friends have to put up with. But other times I could cry because I cant believe Im not in the kind of stable and happy marriage that my parents had. Either way, theres a lot of crying.

Its fun to have a partner. Its why buddy comedies exist. Movies about solo journeys are scary and depressing. I would rather be in Step Brothers than 127 Hours , wouldnt you? And a successful marriage is the ultimate buddy comedy.

For the record, I dont hate husbands. I actually love husbands in theory; I just dont have one. As a kid, my idea of a husband was informed primarily by sitcoms. On 80s and 90s sitcoms, there were two types of husbands. The first was a gruff and overweight man, whose sole goal upon returning home from work was to avoid his family and anesthetize his day away with beer and televised sports. The second was a skittish, smiley man, who tried to please his wife but shirked household chores. Both always wanted to have sex with their unwilling wives and somehow, at the end of the day, commanded respect from their families, although Im not sure why. They were funny and entertaining, but neither was the kind of man Id want to spend my life with.

Then, in my twenties, I watched Friday Night Lights and was introduced to Coach Taylor, played by national treasure Kyle Chandler. Now that was a husband I could get behind. Besides being objectively handsome to anyone with a pulse, Coach Taylor was a stoic provider with a moral center so solid a team full of messed-up high school football players, and probably the entire state of Texas, could rely on it. He would never pee on the toilet seat. He would never complain about having to make himself dinner because I was busy at work. He would never coax his tired wife into having nightly sex when she wasnt in the moodshe would always be in the mood; hes Coach Taylor for Gods sake!

The problem with basing your dream husband on the men you see on TV is that no actual human resembles any of them. You go forth with this traditionally gorgeous, morally flawless ideal that you cant actually find out in the three-dimensional world. The men you meet cant live up to these unrealistic standards. They will be flawednot in the charming way that TV characters are flawed (he tried to cook you dinner for your birthday and set fire to the kitchen), but in a really annoying way that is tedious to put up with (he sides with his mother over you constantly)and they will disappoint you. Until you find the right one, Im told. Then, yes, hell be flawed and sometimes annoying and sometimes disappointing, but this will be outweighed by your love for him and the bond you share. Isnt that romantic?

Times I Wish I Had a Husband

When Im Alone at a Party

A husband is a built-in, permanent plus-one. That is extremely valuable. I love going to parties with a buffer between myself and people I dont want to talk to. Thats heaven. When I go to a party alone, Im so stressed about all the conversation I have to make, trying to find things I have in common with everyone. OMG the new artisanal coffee place on Larchmont! OMG Fleabag ! OMG the president! Eventually I end up excusing myself to go to the bathroom, where I play Donut County on my phone to relax.