Where the hell are you? You’re beyond late.
I’m supposed to be writing a post for my friend’s food blog. But after another weekend of being home, I’m not just restless, I’m pissed off.
Seriously, where are you? I got tired of waiting for you three years ago. And now I’m tired of having to answer to your whereabouts.
That’s right. Even though I don’t know you, no one in family knows you, and I’m beginning to doubt you even exist, I’m constantly asked about when our wedding is. And when my aging, emotionally blackmailing grandmother demands to know when she can see her hypothetical great-grandchildren.
I hope you’re going through this hell as well. It’s only fair. If it’s really true that matches are made in some atmospheric strata above us, then you should rightfully be as miserable with all this pressure as I am.
Every girl grows up with the dream of marrying her Mr Right. I’ve seen some friends get married and be completely and utterly happy. And others get married and repeat the old saw about “Oh yeah I married Mr Right, I just didn’t know his last name was There-Always-On-the-Couch.”
When I was younger, I thought I’d get married and have the whole 2.3 kids thing. The older I got, the less I wanted the whole traditional set up. I certainly didn’t want to marry any of the hidebound men my parents introduced me to. And thank God marriage wasn’t on the cards with the men I ended up meeting on my own. And as for kids, I’m just not sure anymore. I guess it now depends on who with.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t wake up every morning with my hands clasped and my brow furrowed because you’re not here. I’m quite happy. I work, I shop, I read obsessively, and I’m thrilled that we now get Fox TV at home so I can watch Frasier three times a day. Except for when I meet my relatives (increasingly rare now) or have to meet friends who are part of a couple (increasingly rarer), I don’t really worry about you.
But times like this past weekend – times when I’ve wanted to go for a movie, or just go for dinner, or just not feel so damned alone, are the tougher times.
Finding single women friends who I like and who I can hang out with is becoming harder and harder. And the older I get, the more picky I’m becoming. After yet another weekend alone, I’m wondering what now.
I’m at a crossroads in life, career wise. Either I’m going to move cities, or change careers, or just quit and chill for six months, something I’ve been wanting to do for more than six years now. After a 30 minute visit from relatives which was 29 minutes too long, I’m seriously pissed. And freaking out.
Basically, its been a crap all couple of days. And once and for all, I’d like to know.
When are you, Mr Right, the guy who loves me despite everything and ignores me when I play hip hop, getting here?
Are you getting here at all?
I’d really, really like to know. Please.