May 042012


Last summer, during my period of *actual dating*, I hadn’t been looking for the love of my life or anything! I’d known better than to expect fireworks or shooting stars, I was simply trying to find *one guy* I wouldn’t mind spending another five minutes with!

I failed. Miserably. And to think, this whole time I have been blaming THEM.

It’s ME . . . it’s been *me* all along. I am cursed! These poor fellows were totally *normal* when they showed up! But five minutes with me and look what happens! Screws become loose, wiring goes wonky, something snaps and boys lose their minds. I think it must be a chemical reaction I cause in the brain- I cannot help it! I’m poison! I contaminate them!

So I’m giving it all up! Rejecting men! Once and for all! NO LONGER WILL I PLAY THE FIELD! I am cursed, I am star crossed! *Doomed*! I have accepted it and instead of willingly alienating every man I meet, I am turning a new leaf!

Now I suppose I could get some cats and buy the first season of *Murder She Wrote* on dvd! Wear wire rimmed glasses and put my hair in a bun! Hang a picture of Cary Grant over my fireplace and tell people he’s my one true love who was killed in some war or another! Old maid all the way!

But I’m not Bridget Jones.

Fascinating, isn’t it? I’m called a “spinster”? Simply because I have no kids and have wretched, WRETCHED luck with men? Because I’ve turned down marriage every time it was suggested? One might also say that I do not live in the suburbs and do not answer to a man, nor do I devote my entire life, being and paycheck to my three screaming brats . . . but why is that *bad*?!

Simply because I’m *female.*

Were I male, no one would have noticed I wasn’t married yet! Please. People won’t notice a man isn’t married until he’s about 36 and even then he’s *applauded*! No one ever asks him *why*, he’s a god! He’s escaped the noose! He doesn’t have a family, so he can do what he wants without worrying about an ex wife calling to bitch or about the sitter getting home before curfew! He can stay out all night with a some stupid preschooler because he has no baggage- no child support, no alimony!

He’s living the dream! *THIS* CAN GO ON FOR *YEARS*!

Now he may *say* he’s just never met “the right girl” and he’ll probably reel in some drunk chick by telling her he wants to settle down, find someone he can love and to go home to . . . but come on! He ain’t looking. No one pities him for living *alone*- it’s his bachelor pad! His castle! He certainly doesn’t want anyone walking in while he’s breaking the hearts of all those twenty two year olds!

(Which honestly I can’t fault him for; if a bitch is so dumb she can’t see through a chump like that, she deserves what she gets!)

If our bachelor doesn’t snag some teeny bopper, he certainly ain’t going home and to feed his cats and watch reruns of *Moonlighting*! He isn’t going to shovel Rocky Road into his mouth while dreaming of a young Bruce Willis and using a Thigh Master! He can call his buddies for a manly man guys’ night, where he can watch sports w the boys, drink beer, say degrading things about women and complain about how taxing it is, controlling the universe the way he does!

He’s having a blast!

He can go skiing, he can go sailing, he can call out of work and fly off to Rome on a moment’s notice! Play checkers with the pope! He can randomly become an astronaut! A cowboy! A zoo keeper! Anything! He can do things without fear of ruining a relationship!

He has freedom. I want that.

He’s happy rejecting the American Dream and even happier reaping the benefits. I’ve rejected that dream for years . . . but I get scorned for being a “spinster”?

No way. I’m going to be a bachelor.

To quote my boy Oscar Wilde (who did marry, but left his wife for a seventeen year old boy):

“Bachelors should be heavily taxed. It is not fair that some men should be happier than others.”

I’ll be euphoric as a bachelor! I don’t need security, I’m successful in my own right; I don’t need a man to support me, I don’t need a man to clean up my messes or anything really . . . except maybe to open a jar every now and then. I’ve dodged the marriage bullet! Escaped the noose! Look up to ME! *APPLAUD* ME!

I am single because I choose to be! I am accomplished, I am talented and l am HAPPY! I only have to work enough to support *one* person (and a collie) and that’s fantastic! Maybe I’d be a spinster if I lacked male suitors (which I definitely *don’t*), if I were frumpy or fat or unattractive . . . but I’m NOT! I’m an absolute PEACH! I’m cute as a hundred buttons!

(and terribly, *terribly* humble!)

I’m going to milk this as long as I can and panic at 46 . . . like a man.

So look out, kids . . . there’s a new sheriff in town!

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