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Monday, May 4, 2015
Cat LadyPosted Tuesday, April 20, 2010, at 8:03 AM
A few weeks ago, I sent a text to an old friend from Mississippi. She recently divorced and is now dating a new guy. I wanted to ask her how her new relationship was going. The first thing she had to ask me was if I had started dating anyone since I'd moved to Dallas. Of course I hadn't. I moved here on a whim to build a life for myself. I wanted to see other parts of the country, and that's what I'm doing. With this discovery, she reacted with sympathy. She sent encouragement by saying I would find my soul mate when the time was right. I know this. She told me not to fret about being alone. I wasn't. She told me to believe God's plan would unfold. I thought it already was. She told me love would happen soon enough.
Annnnd...so what if it doesn't?
Since when is it terrible for a female in her early twenties to be considered tragic if she's single? I wasn't asking for prayers. I wasn't asking for encouragement. I just wanted to tell her I was excited about her new boy toy. Somehow, that led to a conversation about how desperate my situation must be. I didn't realize that being twenty four years old meant that I needed to assume my role as the local leper who must be quarantined. I didn't realize that my happy ending involved being a crazy lady who lives alone atop a mountain with 12 cats. I didn't realize my new legal name would be "Old Cat Lady Williams." I just thought that I was entering my prime, and I could worry about marriage later. Marriage is so definite, so final. Since I can hardly commit to a hair color, I thought it was best to hold off on crossing that matrimonial bridge until King Charming popped by (because seriously, who wants a prince when there's a king to be had?)
Since living in Dallas, not much of my lifestyle has changed. I'm still a t-shirt-and-flip-flops kind of girl. I still tease my hair until a can of hairspray has been spent damaging the ozone. I don't think it's necessary to put makeup on to pump gas. I don't get frazzled if my toenail polish has a chip in it. I have, however, noticed that the Dallas area is filled with women who I thought only existed on the small screen. These women don't work. They don't volunteer. They don't do house work. They don't cook. They don't bring anything to the table when it comes to being an interesting human being. They do, however, find time to ship all children and pets off to babysitters and doggy daycares before indulging in their morning cocktail hour, which is an appetizer for their afternoon keg stands. Talking to them is like a trip to the gynecologist: painful and unnecessary. They're social lives consist of penciling each other in after their all-consuming tennis lessons. I find myself wondering why they even partake in tennis lessons. It's not for exercise, because they're still healing from liposuction--popping a stitch would be apocalyptic. It's not a social outing, because they're all so self absorbed in their next Botox injection that speaking to another person would involve multi tasking. I've come to the conclusion that they've taken up tennis because they get to wear short skirts that show off their recent body-lift procedures (yes, your entire body can be lifted to your eyeballs if you have the money) and because their instructor is younger and more handsome than the boring, rich husbands who paid for tennis in the first place.
Which brings me to my point: Why get married if you're not ready for it? I look at these women who married well-established, financially offensive men who pay for their 300 dollar haircuts and their brand new "just-because-I-love-you-and-you-told-me-to-buy-this" ten carat diamond rings, and wonder why I would want to settle for something that looks nice and shiny on the outside, but is a hot mess behind closed doors.
I have a friend who is married, and another friend who is getting married in two months. Both have extremely good men. These are men that I consider to be big brothers. They are Christian men who lead their households from the Bible. That's what marriage is all about: finding the person that completes your half. Isn't it still considered important to marry the person that's supposed to be there for the rest of your life? So if it's unfortunate that I refuse to settle for the local waiter who has a lisp, then so be it. I'd rather err on the side of caution than to spend thousands of dollars on a spectacular wedding, followed by an even more expensive divorce.
When I was in high school, my mom pushed me to take shop class instead of home economics. To this day, I can't cook anything but scrambled eggs, but I can weld a trailer together. The point is that my mother wanted me to be able to take care of myself. She always reiterated how times were changing, and that women were no longer considered socially invalid if they weren't married out of high school. With that in mind, I deliberately chose to follow my dreams to wherever they took me, and if King Charming shows up, I might give him my phone number. Then again, I may form tackle him for taking so long.
I may never marry. Right now I can do what I want, when I want. Until I find a decent guy who can handle that and not try to change it, then I'm on my own. And if that makes me a crazy cat lady, then so be it. I do have a slight fear of cats, though.
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Follow the events of a young, single female who just graduated college and is looking for the next chapter to begin. The Fabulous Chronicles of an Average Bombshell looks at what life is like for a young woman in her 20's, living in a small town, who has nothing in common with her friends: she's not interested in marriage, she wants a taste of the city life, and dating is for fun not so much for finding The One.