On Bringing Home the Bacon and Frying it Up in a Pan

Every once in a while being self-sufficient is kind of a drag. You know, being the daughter of parents who encourage individuality, educated by women who faught in the sexual revolution, and motivated and conditioned to not depend on anyone sometimes catches up with you. Sometimes you just get a little lonely. But I still think it's better to be alone than hanging out with sub-par boys who are intimidated by my greatness. Or enthusiasm. Or honesty. Or gusto. Or who just don't think I'm worth their time. I'm sad.
I think my dad is right. I am like Katherine from "The Taming of the Shrew." But Kate wasn't such a bad woman. She just wasn't easily impressed. I'm guessing that in her younger days, she probably knew who she was, but probably got burned--BAD-- any time she tried to give some lesser mortal a chance. And so she came across as difficult. But she probably just didn't want to waste any more time on boys who didn't have much to offer... stupid guys like the ones who liked Bianca (who, were not stupid because they liked Bianca, but just happened to be stupid... there's a difference). As enfuriating as Petruchio was, at least he was a man who knew his own mind, and had one to know to begin with. He was accomplished and intelligent and strong and sure. And not afraid of kissing. Boys who can't kiss are a waste of time. So are boys who don't have social causes. I have no further use for either type of man, and those who fall into both categories need not apply.
Anyway, I'm off to my duties as the family 7th wheel. It's a position I'm getting used to, but it's lonely at the top.