No one worth mentioning

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.

Tuesday

My Tuesday was not the stuff dreams are made of.
I was at my dentist’s office at 8 am, left at 1030; went to an oral surgeon’s office - was there for an hour, then back to my dentist’s office for another hour.

Ouch.

OUCH.

OUCH.

In the waiting room at the surgeon’s office I found a couple of worried looking mothers and an elderly man, also a little worried looking. Just as I got settled with a glossy magazine with some kind of sinful dessert thing on the cover, the assistant poked her head out and called for the elderly man.

Moments later an elderly lady came out and sat down next to me. She was barely settled when the girl behind the counter opened the window and addressed her, stating that her husband was concerned that she might want some water. The lady responded that yes she would like some water and caught me smiling at her. She asked me if I wanted some water too. I laughed and said No, I was fine, just thought how nice it was that her husband was worried about her being thirsty. She smiled at me and said

“Honey, that’s why I married him, he never forgets the little things”.

She got just far enough into her story for me to learn her and her husband visited Cary just after their wedding in 1961, and decided Cary was too much of a one horse town for them. As much as that amused me, knowing Cary as it is now, it's her other statement that has stayed with me all day.

The little things.

I know less than a little bit about the art of maintaining long term relationships – I’ll freely admit. Perhaps this is oversimplification. Perhaps this is just something you say to the girl in the surgeon’s waiting room reading the banana pudding recipe. I’m going to like it, no matter what the truth is. For today, I want to be naïve enough to blindly accept that maybe after 46 years of marriage it really is about making sure your wife has a glass of water, because you had a long car drive early in the morning before your doctor’s appointments.

I’ll go back to cynical and skeptical tomorrow. It can wait a day.