This morning I sat at the kitchen table with my sister as she had breakfast and I finished my daily Bible study. As soon as I was done, she quickly directed the conversation to her new favorite topic- my love like. Inspired by a comment I told her about a customer at work (whom she’s met a few times when we ran into him at his store), she conducted a thorough examination of my current love life- which is flatlined, in case you’re wondering- and proceeded to interrogate me about every one of my male friends and acquaintances that she knows. Naturally, she had strong opinions about them all.
“Oh, he’s only 20? That’s too young. You could never be together.” (She knows mama ain’t got time for that cougar biznaz.)
“But he did break up with his girlfriend. So even if he wasn’t in love with you, he liked you a little.” (Sorry kiddo, there was no romance there on either side. Plus, I just don’t have the seductive prowess to be a homewrecker…but thanks for trying.)
“You’re desperate, aren’t you?” (No, I’m fertile. There’s a difference.)
Clearly she’s a 70 year-old Greek grandmother trapped in a 10 year-old body. Unfortunately for me, her matchmaking skills are on par with those of, say, Helen Keller. Believe it or not, sis, I’ve got better chances getting a date without your help.*
However, currently my most romantic interactions are between me and the Home Depot guy that seemed particularly fond of my daisy-printed romper….by which I mean he was staring long past the “Hey good lookin’” cutoff and Hail Mary-ed it into “What number do I call to file a restraining order?” territory. He was also pushing 30…and did I mention working at Home Depot? Ambition is sexy, gents (as is a job that pays more than minimum wage). Go ahead and call me shallow, but the upper-middle class echelon is my happy place.**
So as you can see, this bachelorette is still livin’ la vida single. And enjoying it, actually, in spite of a certain munchkin’s attempts to get me married off before her next birthday.
On that note, if anyone’s looking to be set up, I “know a guy child…” (That sounded so much less creepy before I typed it out.)
Cheers, yall. Tomorrow’s Friday.
Toast of the day: Here’s to being fertile but not frustrated. It’s a good place to be.
*I never said my chances were actually very good.
**Not that I am opposed to upper class life, if the right man came along and happened to have the net worth of a small country. (Tim Tebow, I’m looking at you.)