I forgot to mention it last time, but the one drawback of going to a friend's wedding reception is the inevitable attention it calls to a single lifestyle. I really despise the tradition of the bouquet toss, but find myself lined up with the 9-year-old girls at every wedding. Once, I decided to embrace the foolishness and duke it out with another girl, but I only got one peony out of the bouquet. The groom at that wedding said, "Don't worry, Rach
. As you are the only single one left in our circle of friends, you are bound to be the next one to get married." Well, while the next few months didn't provide an acceptable suitor, I do recall spending the rest of that evening kissing Chevron. So, que sera sera
Anyway, at the reception on Saturday night, there were several people who made comments, but most of them were sweet and loving. The father of the groom told me that he looked forward to attending my reception someday. The mother of the bride ushered me over to meet her single (and very uncomfortable) nephew. All of that is wedding par for the course. It's actually almost fun.
The one person raining on my parade was a woman I've known all my life. And don't get me wrong, she's a great person. I mean, seriously great! She does amazing thing and is very service-oriented, etc. However, each time I see her, she lets me know that she thinks I'm leading a very sinful life by not getting married and having babies. She tells me I'm too picky. She tells me I'll never find anyone who is perfect (insert, "Well, duh..." here). She suggests I move to Utah. She admonishes me to use the Internet
matchmaking services. She wags her finger, and her husband rolls his eyes. I really think that she should also be lumped into the category of well-meaning folk, but it never ceases to irritate me.
I'd been on my way to the other side of the party to say hello to a childhood friend I rarely see, but got stopped in the name of the love police with the most recent of lectures. I tried to diffuse my interrogator's questions and implications with my normal polite (and very true) response of how I'm leading a very happy, fulfilling life-- that I'm working to be the best person I can and resolving my faults little by little in hopes of someday finding someone to partner up with and make a good life, etc., etc., etc. However, if this is not my fate, I tell her, then at least I can be happily single, rather than bemoaning my fate of solitude, or worse, marrying someone with whom I'd be dismally unhappy. Unfortunately, this did not deter her. As she started to launch back in about how it's not good for us to be alone and yackity
yak, I stopped her in her tracks by issuing a bit of a cheeky (though oddly enough again, true) assessment
of the appropriateness of my latest potential suitors. One, I said, was a 55-year-old man. It might make me picky, but it makes me even more uncomfortable to be pursued by someone just four years younger than my father; someone who was older than I am now when I was born; someone who hasn't dated anyone since I was three years old. Another young gentleman is a lovely chap I've adored as a friend, but his sexual orientation is a bit in limbo. And what of the one I loved dearly, who couldn't possibly hold a job? I hate how harsh I sound right now, but these are some things that I fundamentally can't let go of. I laughed when I realized that 25% of the guys I kissed in the last year had served time in jail. I know. I know. I'm turning over a new leaf. But I thought that maybe over-sharing
a bit with Sister Busy-Body would allow me a hasty exit from the conversation.
However, this post is not meant to be a complaining session-- Rather, I'm here to celebrate the recent successes of at least two of my dear friends finding some relationship success. Last night, I received a very happy report that a good chunk of my inner circle are kissing boys they love... or at least like a lot. It's marvelous. Summer romance is here. Cue John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John. I'm now on the lookout for possible kissing friends not only for myself, but also for my friends (we've got to look out for one another, you know). But don't worry, I'm being selective. I'd hate to run into Sister BB at the next reception and tell her I had to ditch the last guy I'd gone out with because he gave me a cold sore. No, the screening process will be intense, but I have a good feeling about the summer of '08.