He hasn't asked how long I've been single (thank goodness!) or how many times I've been married (thank goodness again!) or even if I’m dating or in a relationship. I don’t expect those questions from him, after all, he’s happily married. I also don’t expect what he asks instead. He sort of tilts his head back and with a smile (or is it a smirk?) asks me if my last experience at marriage was so bad that I decided to swear off men.
I don’t know what to say … I’m flabbergasted. The arrogance of this idiot! As I sort of stumble around trying to figure out how to respond, he reaches over and pats my hand (PATS MY HAND! Can you believe it?) and tells me it’s all right.
I don’t know what to say … I’m flabbergasted. The arrogance of this idiot! As I sort of stumble around trying to figure out how to respond, he reaches over and pats my hand (PATS MY HAND! Can you believe it?) and tells me it’s all right.
“What’s all right?” I ask.
“Well, that you’re single. You’ll find someone when you’re ready.”
I’m speechless. I’m shocked. I’m angry. He’s insulted me by inferring that there’s something wrong with me because I’m not married. I stifle an impulse to punch him in the nose. I would have, if I’d been assured he wouldn't punch back. Or have me arrested. “Why do you assume I need to be married?” I finally ask. He stops smiling. I’m not playing the game by the rules, his rules, and he doesn't want to talk to me any longer. We are in agreement on this … I don’t want to talk with him either. We move apart and I head for the buffet table. Eating soothes me when I’m angry. Okay, now, that was a lie … I went to the buffet table to get another glass of wine. I was plenty annoyed.
So here’s the deal: I’m a single lady, slightly older single lady, living alone with a dog and a cat. One … and only one … of each. I’m happier than I've ever been before in my life. Sure, I want that special someone, but I don’t want that special someone to live with me. I want him to live in San Diego or Portland or Denver. Someplace cool enough that I’d want to visit him there. I know that I live someplace cool enough that he would want to visit me here. We can get together every other week or so to love and laugh and preen and thrill and have fun, but then I get to be home alone. I could be very happy for a long, long while with that guy.
Know of anyone?
I’m speechless. I’m shocked. I’m angry. He’s insulted me by inferring that there’s something wrong with me because I’m not married. I stifle an impulse to punch him in the nose. I would have, if I’d been assured he wouldn't punch back. Or have me arrested. “Why do you assume I need to be married?” I finally ask. He stops smiling. I’m not playing the game by the rules, his rules, and he doesn't want to talk to me any longer. We are in agreement on this … I don’t want to talk with him either. We move apart and I head for the buffet table. Eating soothes me when I’m angry. Okay, now, that was a lie … I went to the buffet table to get another glass of wine. I was plenty annoyed.
So here’s the deal: I’m a single lady, slightly older single lady, living alone with a dog and a cat. One … and only one … of each. I’m happier than I've ever been before in my life. Sure, I want that special someone, but I don’t want that special someone to live with me. I want him to live in San Diego or Portland or Denver. Someplace cool enough that I’d want to visit him there. I know that I live someplace cool enough that he would want to visit me here. We can get together every other week or so to love and laugh and preen and thrill and have fun, but then I get to be home alone. I could be very happy for a long, long while with that guy.
Know of anyone?
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