Most of my adult life, I’ve been *the single friend. You know, the friend that’s dating, but no-one seriously, or to put it as my mom does “no one worth mentioning” - yeah, I get it honest, you think I’m harsh, meet moms, then we’ll tawk.
I come from a long line of very independent women. My Gramma used to make me angel food cake with fresh strawberries from her garden and home-made whipped cream. The first time she made it for me I must have been 7, maybe 8. We were sitting at the little card table in her kitchen and she told me when I thought about how good it was I should remember that men and icing have a lot in common. Nice but optional. At 7, I probably just laughed and asked for more whipped cream, cuz y’know that shit was good.
In junior high and high school, I was far more into sports than boys. I played soccer, managed the men’s baseball team, was in the marching band (no, I was not a Poofter) and eventually the color guard. I had at least one job at all times exercising horses, selling shoes, working at hallmark, and baby sitting. I was rarely idle.
I broke up with my first boyfriend because I just didn’t have time for him. Being the glowing example of diplomacy and tact that I am - it didn’t go over so well. I can clearly remember the look on my brother’s face when I told him how and why I dumped the guy. Abject horror, I believe is the best description.
Once out of college, I quickly became the friend everyone wanted to set up. I went through with it a few times. Most of the time I was left wondering what I had done to make my friends think I’d be interested in the guy they picked, but usually that was the worst of it. At a certain point I stopped accepting these offers, there were a lot of reasons, but this isn’t that post.
I could tell you why I turned down the men that asked me to marry them, except it’s not terribly exciting. The bottom line for each of them was that I really did just *know* it wouldn’t last. If I’m being 100% honest, I knew well before the proposal came.
I wouldn’t dare say that being single is always the cat’s meow, especially when you catch me in that moment where I can’t open the freakin’ pickle jar or figure out how to start the rented leaf blower.
However, I wouldn’t go back and change my decisions if I could and maybe that’s what matters, maybe that's all that matters.
For the record, I still don’t want to meet your brother.