In August Clark and I spent some time in the teeming
metropolis of Canby, Oregon (dripping with sarcasm) where we went to the
Molalla County Fair and Rodeo with my sis and brother-in-law. The announcer rode out on horseback and
gave his opening spiel, at one point asking all the single ladies in the house
to give a shout. Instinctually, I
let out a whoop and threw my fist in the air as my beloved fiancé sat next to
me, sugary sweet elephant ear in hand.
As I stood, measuring the crowd to see if I was the OLDEST
single woman in the bunch, it dawned on me that the announcer wasn’t talking to
me. Apologizing profusely to
Clark, I sat down slightly dumbstruck, and tried to calculate how old the
single bull riders were when I was in high school. Pre-school I think.
It’s a weird thing- switching categories. Last night I talked to a really good
friend from Philly who said, “I cannot believe you are getting married.” She really meant it. She cannot believe I am getting married. It feels like I left Philadelphia 2
weeks ago, not almost 2 YEARS ago.
And back when I was living in Philadelphia I was nursing an inconsolable
broken heart, dating a host of ridiculous men, and living with the certainty
that marriage and babies was not in the cards.
And that was perfectly okay with me. IT WAS AND IS PERFECTLY OKAY AND WONDERFUL AND GREAT AND RICH AND GOOD, the single life. Lonely as crap at times, but uniquely good, good, good.
Someone here in Mt. Pleasant, SC said to me the other day,
“I cannot believe what a varied life you’ve led!”
“A perk to living single” I replied.
“A perk to living single” I replied.
This is the thing.
Life does not begin when you get married. It doesn’t. And
I am certain life doesn’t begin when you have a baby or two. This path is fabulous and I am looking
forward to adventuring with Clark.
But for all of the single gals who could CARE LESS about wedding
invitations and showers, irritating schmaltzy facebook status updates from
married folk who go on and on about their partner or their garden, and the
frustrating looks of sympathy from your boring married friends, keep on keeping
on sisters! There is room for us all and we need one another, whether we are
oldy moldy (all 20 year-olds think 34 year-olds are ancient), young and perky, and
everything in between.
Life is like a high school girl's bathroom. Sometimes you
need to fight thru the drama surrounded by a group of women who will linger
with you in front of the mirror, pass over a little mascara, and swat you on
the behind as you walk out that door.
I’m wearing a white dress 6 weeks from now and will say vows
with the fullness of my heart and voice, but don’t worry single Chiquita
Bananas, I ain’t going anywhere. Nowhere but the dance floor with you.
xoxo
