Does anyone ever ask you why you’re not married? Incessantly? Like, every single day? It used to be just, “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”, but now as I rapidly approach middle age? I am a “spinster”, an “old maid” . . . and people want to know *why.*
– “How could this have happened to someone so ‘cute and funny’?”
– “Whyyyyy can’t she get anyone to marry her? What’s wrong with her?”
Oh, shutup. This has to stop.
What tipped me over into writing this were the events of last night: I was sitting at a local bar, surrounded by drunken pirates (several of whom had their hands on my ass in front of their wives and/ or were making lewd pirate suggestions to me) and every single one of those blasted hornswagglers wanted to know the same goddamn thing! Why the cute little pirate wench hadn’t found someone to sail the seven seas with yet! Why she hadn’t dropped anchor in some lucky bucaneer’s lagoon!
Trust me, if you were me, you wouldn’t be married either.
Now I have no aversion to marriage, I am not *against* it in the least! I could totally be down with the sacred union of two blessed souls (or whatever) if I met a nice, available, reasonably attractive guy! I still ain’t driving a mini van or moving to the freaking suburbs, just treat me well and don’t stick me with the check, then sure . . . I’ll marry you. Twice.
But that’s the joke- if a nice guy wants to take a girl out, treat her right, maybe find someone to start a life with, he doesn’t look twice at me.
Nope. He calls me when he loses his effing mind.
Regardless of what I look like while dressed up as a pirate wench (and believe me, there’s *no way* I can get my chest to look like that without some scotch tape and a corset!), I am still wayyyyy down there at the bottom of the barrel! I’m not the girl you take home to Mom, I’m the girl you call when you escape prison! When you run off with the circus! When you’ve lost your senses, run out of Xanax and have started performing ritual goat sacrifices in the bed of your truck every Thursday . . .
*That’s* when you’ll call me.
I have accepted my fate and I AM NOT ASHAMED! Is Prince Charming out there somewhere, waiting for me? Probably. One day, I’m sure I’ll meet this Prince Charming, he’ll carry me off into the sunset and we’ll live happily ever after . . .
But the fact is this won’t happen til he starts talking to the ghost of Elvis through a tin can, has sushi with Cleopatra on the tops of pyramids, gets abducted by aliens and becomes a medical breakthrough in frontal lobotomy surgery. THAT’S when I’ll find my Prince Charming.
And there you have it!
I’m not married because I’m waiting for *THAT* guy!