I’m caught in a dimension of singlehood between two worlds. One is the world of my parents and the small town - rural area where I grew up. The world where people get married by age 23. If you manage to make it to your 30s unhitched, wild speculation ensues. The other, is the world of my professional life. The world of the big city where no-one expects to be married before 30, and you almost look silly wishing for a relationship.
It is in that second world, when someone recognizes that I’m frustrated at my single status and offers the idea that I have plenty of time. “Oh, you’re still young.”
What is that supposed to mean? Does it mean that as long as I’m not all prune-y, I still have a chance? That as long as I’m not all dried up inside... or filled with cobwebs that I might as well not yearn for love in my life?
Is it supposed to be a consolation? I’m still young – and young is a fine time to be lonely? “Yes dear, your body is still in good shape, butt and breasts are still firm, not many wrinkles… might as well wait until all that’s long gone before you ever have sex again.”
As it stands, men my age don’t even seem to see me. And creeky old men feel obligated to hit on me.
Exhibit A: the church social. Married couples ten years my senior, are eager to lend their match making services. And I’m happy to be their target. Or is it victim?
One couple in particular tells me that they didn’t meet until they were forty, (and they are very happy) so there is plenty of time for me. Great. The Wife starts scrolling through her mental Rolodex. Who does she know who is single, and perhaps a good match for me?
The Husband, on the other hand, thinks of the first single guy in the room and then indicates the guy over there, wearing jeans.
I try to casually glance around the room. All the men are wearing jeans. I notice two reasonably attractive men in my age range. About 10 O’clock? No, Husband next to me tells me I’m off. He directs me to 12 O’clock, where there stands an ‘old’ guy with his paunchy tummy cinched carefully above his belt.
In all these years of being single, I seem to have developed a special talent for encouraging men that I am not interested in. To nip this case in the bud, I turn to the Husband in this scenario and say, “He appears to be a bit older than I picture myself with.”
“Really? Why, how old are you?”
Well, considering that I have been mistaken to be at least four years younger than my age my entire life, I’m even more offended that this Husband is trying to pair me off with Mr. Crusty over there. To emphasize that point I tell him, “I’m 35.”, in a way that implies, “See? Obviously too young for that guy.” I expect Husband to be surprised, and effort some sort of recovery. But he still can’t see his error.
I had to mull that over for a few days and I think I’ve cracked his way of thinking. You see, he’s thinking that the man in question would be attracted to me. I'm fairly young, reasonably attractive and still fit. He’s not thinking about me at all – outside of agreement with the ‘dirty old man factor’.
Of course, in contrast, all his wife can offer is …“Oh, you’re still young.”
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Monday, January 02, 2006
Happy New Year!!!!
Well this was a good one!
Normally, I’m as excited about New Years as I am about Valentine’s Day. In my book, they are both ‘let down’ holidays. Both aimed at couples, and destined to leave a single woman disappointed.
But this New Year’s Eve was the best in a long time.
It certainly didn’t start out that way. I had been dating a guy for 3 months, and we broke up the week before Christmas. That was fine. I was going to do it if he didn’t. The only thing was, he wasn’t even clear about breaking up, but that’s another story.
Even more critical, is that before I went home for Christmas, I had New Years Eve plans as a couple. But as new years approached, I had no plans.
On Friday, I called a few friends and explained my situation. I just didn’t want to sit at home alone. I was more concerned that people would think that I simply didn’t PLAN! At least my excuse led to understanding and M got me invited to a party at a downtown loft. Of course the party turned out to be right next door to ExBF’s friends who have more money than God – a fantastic loft - and were also throwing a party. So I knew I would see ExBF.
When I got to the first party, ExBF’s friend, A was already there, borrowing a few CDs from her neighbor. I took the opportunity to break it to her that we broke up, we talked for a little while and she asked if I was going to join them at midnight to watch the fireworks from their balcony (better view – the whole party was supposed to go over there) I asked if it would be okay, comfort level-wise and she insisted that I join them.
So at about 10:30 my girlfriends and I migrated over for dancing and a better view of the fireworks. There I was, enjoying a penthouse view of the fireworks from their wrap around patio... peering down on the common folk on the street below watching the fireworks from the ground. I’ll admit, I felt a bit superior!
After midnight, I went out on the balcony again to look for ExBF. I wanted to at least wish him a happy new year. The second I was outside he came toward me, from a distance. I stood there, looking fabulous and smiling at him as he approached, and we shared a big hug. He acknowledged that he handled the break-up badly, and that A took it harder than the two of us combined!
I managed to have a fun New Year’s Eve. I got the acknowledgement that I wanted about the breakup. Put a nice little bow on top. And I’m starting the New Year with a fresh slate. Couldn’t ask for more.
Normally, I’m as excited about New Years as I am about Valentine’s Day. In my book, they are both ‘let down’ holidays. Both aimed at couples, and destined to leave a single woman disappointed.
But this New Year’s Eve was the best in a long time.
It certainly didn’t start out that way. I had been dating a guy for 3 months, and we broke up the week before Christmas. That was fine. I was going to do it if he didn’t. The only thing was, he wasn’t even clear about breaking up, but that’s another story.
Even more critical, is that before I went home for Christmas, I had New Years Eve plans as a couple. But as new years approached, I had no plans.
On Friday, I called a few friends and explained my situation. I just didn’t want to sit at home alone. I was more concerned that people would think that I simply didn’t PLAN! At least my excuse led to understanding and M got me invited to a party at a downtown loft. Of course the party turned out to be right next door to ExBF’s friends who have more money than God – a fantastic loft - and were also throwing a party. So I knew I would see ExBF.
When I got to the first party, ExBF’s friend, A was already there, borrowing a few CDs from her neighbor. I took the opportunity to break it to her that we broke up, we talked for a little while and she asked if I was going to join them at midnight to watch the fireworks from their balcony (better view – the whole party was supposed to go over there) I asked if it would be okay, comfort level-wise and she insisted that I join them.
So at about 10:30 my girlfriends and I migrated over for dancing and a better view of the fireworks. There I was, enjoying a penthouse view of the fireworks from their wrap around patio... peering down on the common folk on the street below watching the fireworks from the ground. I’ll admit, I felt a bit superior!
After midnight, I went out on the balcony again to look for ExBF. I wanted to at least wish him a happy new year. The second I was outside he came toward me, from a distance. I stood there, looking fabulous and smiling at him as he approached, and we shared a big hug. He acknowledged that he handled the break-up badly, and that A took it harder than the two of us combined!
I managed to have a fun New Year’s Eve. I got the acknowledgement that I wanted about the breakup. Put a nice little bow on top. And I’m starting the New Year with a fresh slate. Couldn’t ask for more.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Which one is the Christmas Grinch?
I finally made it out to do a little Christmas shopping and as a result, I’m in much more of a Holiday mood! I wasn’t feeling Grinchy. It was just that I have to travel home for Christmas… and was supposed to go on a work trip two days after Christmas, so I figured there was no sense getting a tree. It would be like setting up a fire hazard in my home.
However, while shopping I encountered a man who was none too happy about having to shop one day out of the year. A sight to behold! *(More on that below!)*
I was in a department store, seeking a fluffy soft robe, which Mom said she would like to have for Christmas. I found what I wanted, but not the right size so the store clerk called a couple other stores to find it. In the meantime, a few other customers approached the counter to ask where they might find this or that. The clerk –on the phone doing MY business – just pointed the first woman in the general direction. The next woman was looking for slipper socks, and since the dismissive sales clerk was occupied, I decided I could take the lady directly to the slippers.
When I returned to the counter, the clerk was still on the phone. Then Mr. Christmas came up and asked where to find the robes. Cotton. This guy knew what he wanted and would waste no time. She pointed him ‘over there’ which he didn’t seem to appreciate, as it still wasn’t obvious to him. In a few minutes he came back with a very pretty robe and asked the clerk what size he should get given the dimensions of the woman he was buying for. She said small, I said medium. He got crankier, because there was no small from which to choose.
Still on the phone, she rung up his medium purchase. When he asked for a box, she matter of factly told him to go to customer service. He didn’t like this answer – and though I knew she giving him the right information, I couldn’t blame him. With just a few extra, carefully chosen words, she could have made the whole experience a bit more pleasant.
When he left, I commented to the clerk – still on the phone looking for my robe – “That guy doesn’t want to be Christmas shopping.” She went on to say that crabby people like that are the worst part of her job. I told her that a little coddling can go a long way, but she insisted that when they act like that, they make her not even want to help them.
I shut up at this point. And I regret it. The guy wasn’t that bad. He just clearly doesn’t like Christmas shopping, or probably any type of shopping. She could have changed his entire holiday spirit if she had said things like, “I’m sorry. I’m working on the phone to help this customer. You’ll find the robes in that corner. Let me know if I can assist you.” or “Medium would be a safe choice. I’ll give you a gift receipt so she can exchange it if it’s really too big.” and “I’m sorry, we don’t have boxes at this counter, but if you take your receipt to the service counter, they’ll even wrap it for you.”
It would only take a fraction more energy, and everyone’s experience would be better by far. Poor customer service is my biggest pet peeve. It’s ridiculous to me because it doesn’t take that much more energy to mark the line between SERVING a customer and not serving. It’s so simple… just do for your customer what you would like done for yourself.
And part of me hates to complain about it because she did go out of her way to help me. But she sure wasn’t very nice to the woman on the phone.
*
very strange to me, to see someone who doesn't like shopping. I
love shopping.
At a party last weekend, I approached a guy who was talking about football and to include me in the conversation he asked, "do you like the Broncos?" I responded, "I don't watch football at all." I about died when I saw his face! He had this curious, bewildered look - as if I had told him that I simply don't breathe.
I decided the equivalent would be trying to involve this guy in a conversation about shopping!
However, while shopping I encountered a man who was none too happy about having to shop one day out of the year. A sight to behold! *(More on that below!)*
I was in a department store, seeking a fluffy soft robe, which Mom said she would like to have for Christmas. I found what I wanted, but not the right size so the store clerk called a couple other stores to find it. In the meantime, a few other customers approached the counter to ask where they might find this or that. The clerk –on the phone doing MY business – just pointed the first woman in the general direction. The next woman was looking for slipper socks, and since the dismissive sales clerk was occupied, I decided I could take the lady directly to the slippers.
When I returned to the counter, the clerk was still on the phone. Then Mr. Christmas came up and asked where to find the robes. Cotton. This guy knew what he wanted and would waste no time. She pointed him ‘over there’ which he didn’t seem to appreciate, as it still wasn’t obvious to him. In a few minutes he came back with a very pretty robe and asked the clerk what size he should get given the dimensions of the woman he was buying for. She said small, I said medium. He got crankier, because there was no small from which to choose.
Still on the phone, she rung up his medium purchase. When he asked for a box, she matter of factly told him to go to customer service. He didn’t like this answer – and though I knew she giving him the right information, I couldn’t blame him. With just a few extra, carefully chosen words, she could have made the whole experience a bit more pleasant.
When he left, I commented to the clerk – still on the phone looking for my robe – “That guy doesn’t want to be Christmas shopping.” She went on to say that crabby people like that are the worst part of her job. I told her that a little coddling can go a long way, but she insisted that when they act like that, they make her not even want to help them.
I shut up at this point. And I regret it. The guy wasn’t that bad. He just clearly doesn’t like Christmas shopping, or probably any type of shopping. She could have changed his entire holiday spirit if she had said things like, “I’m sorry. I’m working on the phone to help this customer. You’ll find the robes in that corner. Let me know if I can assist you.” or “Medium would be a safe choice. I’ll give you a gift receipt so she can exchange it if it’s really too big.” and “I’m sorry, we don’t have boxes at this counter, but if you take your receipt to the service counter, they’ll even wrap it for you.”
It would only take a fraction more energy, and everyone’s experience would be better by far. Poor customer service is my biggest pet peeve. It’s ridiculous to me because it doesn’t take that much more energy to mark the line between SERVING a customer and not serving. It’s so simple… just do for your customer what you would like done for yourself.
And part of me hates to complain about it because she did go out of her way to help me. But she sure wasn’t very nice to the woman on the phone.
*
very strange to me, to see someone who doesn't like shopping. I
love shopping.
At a party last weekend, I approached a guy who was talking about football and to include me in the conversation he asked, "do you like the Broncos?" I responded, "I don't watch football at all." I about died when I saw his face! He had this curious, bewildered look - as if I had told him that I simply don't breathe.
I decided the equivalent would be trying to involve this guy in a conversation about shopping!
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Another Man Falls Off The Planet
Well, another man fell off the planet. Apparently meeting or dating me causes men to lose their gravitational pull. I feel a bit responsible for all these guys floating aimlessly in outer space. (but I guess that’s better than having them wander aimlessly on Earth) I’m relieved only by the fact that plenty of other women seem to be responsible for the same phenomenon.
Still, it seems rather dramatic to me, to choose to fall off the Earth so often. Is it that hard to just call a girl and let her know you’re no longer interested?
Case in point:
This last guy that I dated seemed like a real contender. Things were going so well, that I honestly believed that I would not have to date random men again for a good five or six months. It might not be forever, but at least I could be off the market for a little while.
He called just often enough. He planned dates well in advance. He made me dinner at his house so I could meet his dogs.
Meeting his dogs! Come on! That’s a big deal. That’s bigger than meeting his parents. Parents you only see on holidays. The dogs I may have to live with someday.
Then POOF! He fell off the Earth.
Being the woman that I am, I spent some time trying to figure out what I might have done wrong. You know, other than being sweet, listening to his stories about work and golf, meeting his friends with a charming smile and even better conversation. If he were on the same dates as I was on (and I believe that he was) he’d know beyond a doubt that I’m the ideal girlfriend.
But the poor guy fell off the face of the Earth.
Doesn’t matter. A man too dumb to know that he should continue dating me, is too dumb for me to continue to date.
The main reason I’m miffed… is that he dated a friend of mine earlier this year, and managed to fall off the Earth then too. That makes me “Just Another Girl” also known as “Nobody Special” and that’s what hurts.
So it all makes me wonder, what happens to these guys when they fall off the planet? Is there a safety net? Do they float? How to they return?
Still, it seems rather dramatic to me, to choose to fall off the Earth so often. Is it that hard to just call a girl and let her know you’re no longer interested?
Case in point:
This last guy that I dated seemed like a real contender. Things were going so well, that I honestly believed that I would not have to date random men again for a good five or six months. It might not be forever, but at least I could be off the market for a little while.
He called just often enough. He planned dates well in advance. He made me dinner at his house so I could meet his dogs.
Meeting his dogs! Come on! That’s a big deal. That’s bigger than meeting his parents. Parents you only see on holidays. The dogs I may have to live with someday.
Then POOF! He fell off the Earth.
Being the woman that I am, I spent some time trying to figure out what I might have done wrong. You know, other than being sweet, listening to his stories about work and golf, meeting his friends with a charming smile and even better conversation. If he were on the same dates as I was on (and I believe that he was) he’d know beyond a doubt that I’m the ideal girlfriend.
But the poor guy fell off the face of the Earth.
Doesn’t matter. A man too dumb to know that he should continue dating me, is too dumb for me to continue to date.
The main reason I’m miffed… is that he dated a friend of mine earlier this year, and managed to fall off the Earth then too. That makes me “Just Another Girl” also known as “Nobody Special” and that’s what hurts.
So it all makes me wonder, what happens to these guys when they fall off the planet? Is there a safety net? Do they float? How to they return?
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Do People Really Expect Me To Put Up With This?
I was in a state of blissful happiness in the months after I bought my condo. It was cute, charming and MINE. All MINE! It was a thrill to come home each evening. I dreamed of throwing parties and having friends over – things my last apartment was just too small to even consider doing.
Then, after four months of elation, I returned home on New Years Day after a weekend of skiing with my friend Kaha who was visiting from out of state. I heard hammering coming from another unit the night before, and assumed my next-door neighbor who moved in a month behind me was hanging some new artwork. The next morning before 9:00am I awoke to strains of too loud music. At first I thought it was some bozo from the building next door and shot out of bed to investigate. To my surprise, it was coming from directly below me – and I remembered that the unit below me had sold and the woman was moving in this week.
All tousseled and rumpled from an interrupted sleep, I made my way downstairs to break the news to my new neighbor that her music level was too loud for this building. (not to mention too early) She was going to have to adjust, but at least she would know from the start.
She seemed like a dear sweet lady, invited me in coffee and everything, but I explained that I had company upstairs. Let’s call her Maca. She turned the music down and I thought all was well.
Well it wasn’t. She continued with her loud music and punctuated it with banging doors – sometimes one aggressive bang after another – other times, spurts of one bang per minute for an hour and a half. The music is loud enough to vibrate my floors and chairs and to sound as if I have my own stereo cranked in my own unit. It’s loud enough to hear each word clearly and sing along if I know the words.
She came up to third floor one day, took everyone’s welcome mat and threw them in the back stairwell. Another day, she brought her umbrella with her and proceeded to poke holes in the hallways walls. When one of my neighbors caught her in the act, and asked what she was doing, Maca looked stunned and said, “Oh, I didn’t know anybody was home.” With that, she retreated to her own unit.
Oh, well, that explains it. The music and banging continued. Sometimes I could hear her stomping on her floor. Another time, banging on her ceiling (my floor) moving from one end of the living room to the other. It lasted for an hour. My friend Kaha heard it all through my cell phone!
Every effort to reason with her was futile. We – somebody – learned that Maca has bi-polar disorder, so that makes this even more difficult. She’s someone with whom you can’t reason.
She accused others in the building of sneaking into her apartment and stealing her spoons. Or of coming in and messing things up.
At this point, I no longer loved my new home. My home was no longer a refuge but a place of torment. I dreaded walking into the building because I knew I would have to have my guard up and that is something one should be free of when in their own home.
I tried to pass a quiet hours rule through the homeowners association. It failed. So I took my next recourse. I called the local police district’s non-emergency number to report noise disturbances. One, when a police man was final able to confront her, he returned to my door to tell me that Maca is indeed crazy and he reminded me that the only way to win this battle is to sign a complaint against her – yet he didn’t offer a complaint for me to sign.
The next morning, she was by my car when I left for work and she threatened me. Saying that I had better watch it.
This is when my friends and family started telling me to leave it alone. That she might do something crazy.
This is so frustrating. I have a right to live in my home in peace. I will stand up for my rights. I don’t particularly care if she is crazy or not. If she is not capable of living on her own like a reasonable person, then she should be put someplace where she doesn’t infringe on other peoples rights.
Yesterday, I stayed home to work from my house. She started her music at 7:30 am. By noon, it was so loud that I called her and asked her to turn it down, saying that if she didn’t do so within 20 minutes, that I would report her for disturbing the peace. So I did. The cops came out, heard her music from my apartment and went to talk to her. She wouldn’t answer the door, and the last I heard, they took her away in handcuffs.
I’m sure she wasn’t arrested for the music, but for resisting the officers. When I told a co-worker, she said she’s worried about what will happen to ME! She’s scared for me and says that I shouldn’t do this to provoke Maca because we don’t know what she might do.
Ridiculous!!! I am well within my rights to want a peaceful home. Maca is preventing me from living peacefully. Am I supposed to just roll over and take it because of what she might do? If that is how America works now we’re in for a hell of a lot of trouble!!!
This sounds like those parents who can’t control their kids and then complain when other people comment on their lousy brats! If you can’t behave – someone better show you how. And don’t be surprised when they do.
If we let everyone violate all our rights, we shouldn’t be surprised when we have no rights left.
I WILL stand up for myself. And I’ll even pretend that it’s in the interest of getting Maca help. In my opinion, she’s not fit for society. She could just as easily take her dang medication and be pleasant to live with… but she chooses not to and in doing so she impacts my life. Well, I’m going to impact her right back!
Then, after four months of elation, I returned home on New Years Day after a weekend of skiing with my friend Kaha who was visiting from out of state. I heard hammering coming from another unit the night before, and assumed my next-door neighbor who moved in a month behind me was hanging some new artwork. The next morning before 9:00am I awoke to strains of too loud music. At first I thought it was some bozo from the building next door and shot out of bed to investigate. To my surprise, it was coming from directly below me – and I remembered that the unit below me had sold and the woman was moving in this week.
All tousseled and rumpled from an interrupted sleep, I made my way downstairs to break the news to my new neighbor that her music level was too loud for this building. (not to mention too early) She was going to have to adjust, but at least she would know from the start.
She seemed like a dear sweet lady, invited me in coffee and everything, but I explained that I had company upstairs. Let’s call her Maca. She turned the music down and I thought all was well.
Well it wasn’t. She continued with her loud music and punctuated it with banging doors – sometimes one aggressive bang after another – other times, spurts of one bang per minute for an hour and a half. The music is loud enough to vibrate my floors and chairs and to sound as if I have my own stereo cranked in my own unit. It’s loud enough to hear each word clearly and sing along if I know the words.
She came up to third floor one day, took everyone’s welcome mat and threw them in the back stairwell. Another day, she brought her umbrella with her and proceeded to poke holes in the hallways walls. When one of my neighbors caught her in the act, and asked what she was doing, Maca looked stunned and said, “Oh, I didn’t know anybody was home.” With that, she retreated to her own unit.
Oh, well, that explains it. The music and banging continued. Sometimes I could hear her stomping on her floor. Another time, banging on her ceiling (my floor) moving from one end of the living room to the other. It lasted for an hour. My friend Kaha heard it all through my cell phone!
Every effort to reason with her was futile. We – somebody – learned that Maca has bi-polar disorder, so that makes this even more difficult. She’s someone with whom you can’t reason.
She accused others in the building of sneaking into her apartment and stealing her spoons. Or of coming in and messing things up.
At this point, I no longer loved my new home. My home was no longer a refuge but a place of torment. I dreaded walking into the building because I knew I would have to have my guard up and that is something one should be free of when in their own home.
I tried to pass a quiet hours rule through the homeowners association. It failed. So I took my next recourse. I called the local police district’s non-emergency number to report noise disturbances. One, when a police man was final able to confront her, he returned to my door to tell me that Maca is indeed crazy and he reminded me that the only way to win this battle is to sign a complaint against her – yet he didn’t offer a complaint for me to sign.
The next morning, she was by my car when I left for work and she threatened me. Saying that I had better watch it.
This is when my friends and family started telling me to leave it alone. That she might do something crazy.
This is so frustrating. I have a right to live in my home in peace. I will stand up for my rights. I don’t particularly care if she is crazy or not. If she is not capable of living on her own like a reasonable person, then she should be put someplace where she doesn’t infringe on other peoples rights.
Yesterday, I stayed home to work from my house. She started her music at 7:30 am. By noon, it was so loud that I called her and asked her to turn it down, saying that if she didn’t do so within 20 minutes, that I would report her for disturbing the peace. So I did. The cops came out, heard her music from my apartment and went to talk to her. She wouldn’t answer the door, and the last I heard, they took her away in handcuffs.
I’m sure she wasn’t arrested for the music, but for resisting the officers. When I told a co-worker, she said she’s worried about what will happen to ME! She’s scared for me and says that I shouldn’t do this to provoke Maca because we don’t know what she might do.
Ridiculous!!! I am well within my rights to want a peaceful home. Maca is preventing me from living peacefully. Am I supposed to just roll over and take it because of what she might do? If that is how America works now we’re in for a hell of a lot of trouble!!!
This sounds like those parents who can’t control their kids and then complain when other people comment on their lousy brats! If you can’t behave – someone better show you how. And don’t be surprised when they do.
If we let everyone violate all our rights, we shouldn’t be surprised when we have no rights left.
I WILL stand up for myself. And I’ll even pretend that it’s in the interest of getting Maca help. In my opinion, she’s not fit for society. She could just as easily take her dang medication and be pleasant to live with… but she chooses not to and in doing so she impacts my life. Well, I’m going to impact her right back!
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Donut Holes
Sigh.
Could you believe joining your church congregation for coffee and donuts would be so frustrating?
I started attending a new church when I bought my new condo in Denver. Going in, I reasoned the parishioners would be light in the singles department. This church is in a beautiful established neighborhood among very expensive older homes.
(the sort I certainly can’t afford – it would take a two income family and probably some ‘family money’ to even think about those homes.)
On my first visit, people were very friendly and inviting and I even spotted a few singles making their way to Communion. Upon evidence of single people, I reasoned this may be a welcoming church.
(yes, I sing along with the Communion song, and become distracted from praying by looking for the absence of wedding bands on reasonably attractive men returning from Communion.)
This parish serves coffee and donuts after every Sunday Mass, and while the last thing I really need is a donut, I figure it’s a good way to be social so I make my way to the basement – alone of course.
Tentatively, I choose a donut thinking about how many crunches I’ll have to do, or how many minutes on the elliptical trainer at the gym it will take to counteract this consumption.
In the name of social activity and meeting new people I indulge anyway. Then I make my way over to a group of people who appear to be my age.
Here is where it turns odd. They don’t introduce themselves. Not to me, but I didn’t expect that. They don’t even introduce themselves to each other. Instead the conversation goes, “Caitlin, this is Noah. He’ll be in your grade next fall.” Then the discussion turns to, “Are you planning another child?” and “Oops, pink frosting on your sweater sweetie.” They introduce themselves through their children.
I feel like some sort of single apparition. They clearly had to see me, but simply couldn’t believe I was there.
I tossed in a few comments, but they fell straight to the floor. Meanwhile, I’m thinking, “Talk to me! Sure you’re married, but you must have a brother or cousin or something! Don’t you want me to wipe frosting off my own kid’s mug someday?”
Clearly, this is why there are no other single people down here for donuts. First we don’t want to have to work it off and second, we’re ignored by the married people. Why would anyone return for the rejection?
By all appearances, married people have created a single-free zone at Coffee and Donuts. It’s one more place that we can’t meet.
It's completely understandable why singles roll their eyes when it’s suggested that they should seek the love of their lives at church.
---
Then I realized, this is a church and School. All these parents know each other through their kids. If I don’t have kids, they have no reason to get to know me. How rude. I’m not ruling them out as potential friends just because they’re breeders. Why the fear of the single?
I called my best friend back home from my cell phone on my way home from church. She understands my frustration, noting that I’m constantly making grand gestures (ie, walking into a room full of donuts all by myself) just to meet new people. Together we reason that meeting new people is more important to me than it is to these people at church. Okay, I can accept that. But it still hurts.
Best Friend also adds, while considering that since I look so much younger than my 34 years, these ‘Moms’ might see me as a threat. I interject that it’s a silly notion, but BF continues, “… and the husbands don’t want to talk to you because they think they’ll get in trouble.”
Oh. Hadn’t thought of that. I honestly hadn’t thought of that.
Honestly, when I see a dad wrangling his kids into their coats I think it’s the sweetest thing on Earth. I’m thinking here’s a marriage minded guy, who probably associates with more of the same. He should have a brother, a cousin a wonderful single friend or co-worker. So I’ll make a funny comment as a means of introducing myself, and I’m generally ignored. So here’s a note to you married people. If you have single people bugging you at church, they’re not trying to steal your man or your kids. They just want what you have, and we think, maybe, seeing as you have it… you might want to spread the wealth. Introduce yourself and start thinking about your single in-laws that might like to have dinner at your house with a nice Catholic girl.
Sound like too much work? You’re not thinking ahead. If you introduce a single friend to someone, you might get a free night of babysitting in return. If the introduction goes well, your new friends end up watching rentals at your house with the kids and you get to take your spouse to the theatre… on a regular basis!
Sheesh. I can’t believe I have to explain this to you!
Your comments are welcome. I want to hear from singles and marrieds. Let’s share perspectives and insights.
Could you believe joining your church congregation for coffee and donuts would be so frustrating?
I started attending a new church when I bought my new condo in Denver. Going in, I reasoned the parishioners would be light in the singles department. This church is in a beautiful established neighborhood among very expensive older homes.
(the sort I certainly can’t afford – it would take a two income family and probably some ‘family money’ to even think about those homes.)
On my first visit, people were very friendly and inviting and I even spotted a few singles making their way to Communion. Upon evidence of single people, I reasoned this may be a welcoming church.
(yes, I sing along with the Communion song, and become distracted from praying by looking for the absence of wedding bands on reasonably attractive men returning from Communion.)
This parish serves coffee and donuts after every Sunday Mass, and while the last thing I really need is a donut, I figure it’s a good way to be social so I make my way to the basement – alone of course.
Tentatively, I choose a donut thinking about how many crunches I’ll have to do, or how many minutes on the elliptical trainer at the gym it will take to counteract this consumption.
In the name of social activity and meeting new people I indulge anyway. Then I make my way over to a group of people who appear to be my age.
Here is where it turns odd. They don’t introduce themselves. Not to me, but I didn’t expect that. They don’t even introduce themselves to each other. Instead the conversation goes, “Caitlin, this is Noah. He’ll be in your grade next fall.” Then the discussion turns to, “Are you planning another child?” and “Oops, pink frosting on your sweater sweetie.” They introduce themselves through their children.
I feel like some sort of single apparition. They clearly had to see me, but simply couldn’t believe I was there.
I tossed in a few comments, but they fell straight to the floor. Meanwhile, I’m thinking, “Talk to me! Sure you’re married, but you must have a brother or cousin or something! Don’t you want me to wipe frosting off my own kid’s mug someday?”
Clearly, this is why there are no other single people down here for donuts. First we don’t want to have to work it off and second, we’re ignored by the married people. Why would anyone return for the rejection?
By all appearances, married people have created a single-free zone at Coffee and Donuts. It’s one more place that we can’t meet.
It's completely understandable why singles roll their eyes when it’s suggested that they should seek the love of their lives at church.
---
Then I realized, this is a church and School. All these parents know each other through their kids. If I don’t have kids, they have no reason to get to know me. How rude. I’m not ruling them out as potential friends just because they’re breeders. Why the fear of the single?
I called my best friend back home from my cell phone on my way home from church. She understands my frustration, noting that I’m constantly making grand gestures (ie, walking into a room full of donuts all by myself) just to meet new people. Together we reason that meeting new people is more important to me than it is to these people at church. Okay, I can accept that. But it still hurts.
Best Friend also adds, while considering that since I look so much younger than my 34 years, these ‘Moms’ might see me as a threat. I interject that it’s a silly notion, but BF continues, “… and the husbands don’t want to talk to you because they think they’ll get in trouble.”
Oh. Hadn’t thought of that. I honestly hadn’t thought of that.
Honestly, when I see a dad wrangling his kids into their coats I think it’s the sweetest thing on Earth. I’m thinking here’s a marriage minded guy, who probably associates with more of the same. He should have a brother, a cousin a wonderful single friend or co-worker. So I’ll make a funny comment as a means of introducing myself, and I’m generally ignored. So here’s a note to you married people. If you have single people bugging you at church, they’re not trying to steal your man or your kids. They just want what you have, and we think, maybe, seeing as you have it… you might want to spread the wealth. Introduce yourself and start thinking about your single in-laws that might like to have dinner at your house with a nice Catholic girl.
Sound like too much work? You’re not thinking ahead. If you introduce a single friend to someone, you might get a free night of babysitting in return. If the introduction goes well, your new friends end up watching rentals at your house with the kids and you get to take your spouse to the theatre… on a regular basis!
Sheesh. I can’t believe I have to explain this to you!
Your comments are welcome. I want to hear from singles and marrieds. Let’s share perspectives and insights.
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