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Single +1


So it turns out I’m not as funny as I like to think I am. And to be honest, I think I’m freaking hysterical. After my “debut”, if you will, in last week’s Packet, there has been an overwhelming response to my column. I choose to ignore the bad and let the good inflate my ego just a smidge more. But believe it or not, some people don’t like what I have to say. Shocking.
Do you ever look at the little elderly couple holding hands in the mall? Or the couple who goes out to dinner and eats the entire meal in complete silence because after 40 years, they have run out of things to say? I do. My job in this life is to be the best mother that I know how to be. And I’m a pretty dang good one. My biggest fear though (besides her getting something tattooed, pierced or both) is that I won’t be able to show my daughter an example of what true love is.
Whether we admit it or not, everyone wants the kind of relationship where you’re married to your best friend. Where, after a lifetime together, you still get butterflies in your stomach when your significant other walks into a room. I know couples like that. And sometimes, just sometimes, well…it makes me a little queasy.
After last week’s column, I got a response from a reader who wished me luck in my “search for Mr. Right.” On my good lord, is that what I’m doing?! I think that until that point I had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be single forever. Not alone, just not married. After my divorce I got the sympathetic looks from sweet little old ladies as they would pat my hand, telling me not too worry, that the right man would come along soon. And that scared the bejesus out of me. To this day, the idea of a ring on my left hand makes me a little itchy.
So what does that mean? Besides the fact that I obviously need many hours of very expensive therapy? I’m happy for couples who have found true love, (although slightly envious on rare occasions) but am scared to death of finding the “right” one for myself. And it’s crazy, but I enjoy going on bad dates. It’s almost fun in some twisted way. I truly enjoy the company of men. And no, that does not mean by any stretch of the imagination that I have a swinging door on my bedroom. For the record, it’s solid oak. With a lock.
I’m not bitter, cynical, do not Facebook stalk (or better said, I won’t admit to it), and truly appreciate when a man can open a jar of pickles. I’m just not ready to get married. And after much soul searching and a little bit of drinkin’, I don’t think there is anything wrong with that. Whether you can relate to what I have to say or use my column to line the bottom of a birdcage, this is my life. In black and white. And as long as people keep reading, I’ll keep writing about the good, the bad and the poor unsuspecting souls who continue to date me. May God have mercy on them.
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