We were winding our way from her hotel room to the elevator, discussing my advancing age.
“Do you feel anxious about the marriage and kids thing?” Stephanie asked, tossing a look over her shoulder and zagging left. “I swear, they must think I’m elevator-allergic.”
“No,” I said, giving the thought a frown and some real consideration. “I don’t. Should I?”
“No!” She meant it. And as someone who, with only two years on me, has everything (cranky* husband, beautiful babies, a couple books), you’d think she’d be the first person urging me to get while the gettin’s good.
“Just enjoy it,” she said, and then “Oh! Finally!” The elevator was in sight; discussion of my spinsterhood, over. At least, for the moment.
On Saturday, I dropped by Jamie’s to bring lunch for the folks who were busy hefting my friend’s belongings into a moving truck. I wasn’t there ten minutes before Jamie’s mom, Evie, got to mothering and tried to send me home with food.
“Here,” she said, bundling up one of the foot-long subs. “You can take this home with you.”
“No way. I don’t need that.”
“Not even for supper? You could have this tonight… unless you have a hot date.”
I laughed. “No hot date, thank goodness.”
I was thinking that, in light of the day’s humidity and the fifteen thousand errands I had left to run, nothing could be less appealing than getting gussied up. Hot dates, they are a lot of work. But Evie just sighed one of those motherly sighs and put down the sandwich.
“I forgot. You girls don’t need men.”
Wait, what? Jamie was coming down the stairs and I threw her a glance that said, “I hope you caught that. We shall discuss later.” Need? No, I guess not. But like? Oh yes. Yes I do. But by the way Evie said it, I began to think maybe we’d thrown around one too many jokes about being each other’s platonic housewives. Evie was starting to worry that Jamie and I were going to file for domestic partnership.
“Oh, that isn’t true at all,” I said, reassuringly. “We need them sometimes.”
I saved the bit about ‘dead batteries’ for when she was out of earshot.
*Cranky is, in my book, an entirely positive attribute. As evidenced by my love for gems like Detective Stabler and House MD.
This whole thing sounds like a classic Jewish mother encounter. Have you been hanging out with my fam?! “Eat! Eat! Here, take some cantaloupe/eggs/snickers with you!” The dead batteries comments is ridonculously funny.
Ha! And carrying heavy things. I once told my boyfriend that I couldn’t be a lesbian because I’m no good at carrying heavy things (like luggage) or opening jars.
tee hee, you know you’re getting old when staying cool & finishing errands sounds more appealing than a hot date!!
(TOTALLY speaking for myself, of course
)
LOL!!!!!
I’ll be 42 in two weeks. Still single, damn proud and LOVIN’ IT. You’re right…We do “need” them…..sometimes. Personally, I’m just tired of babysitting and until such time…I just continue to live my life, take care of myself and enjoy thinking and doing only for one. Whenever I may feel little depressed or sadden by yet another heartbreak…I just remind myself of what most of my counsins say to me…”You’re so lucky to be single and free.”
Sigh. Yea. Free.
I just had to comment because your last comment made me laugh! Hilarious. You always crack me up.
I heart House! I, too, have misplaced my feelings of societal pressure to get committed, a dog, a baby and a house. Unless of course, it’s House
Then I’m all over his babies, baby!
I don’t know if divorced counts as single here, but I have to say that after seven years, I still get a lot of pressure to remarry… according to most people, someone, anyone, it seems, would be preferable to my current lonely lifestyle. And I’m not entirely against the idea, but of course it would have to be to the right man at the right time. Not just for sport.
On the other hand, most of my married friends seem to envy my flexibility and the control I have over my own life. Yes I bear all the responsibility, but I also get to make all the decisions. It’s not bad, I have to admit. To the person who commented that she’s ‘tired of babysiting’, amen. That seems to be the defect, doesn’t it? Men who never grow up are a dime a dozen. In fact, it might actually be a gender issue; growing up seems to be optional for the opposite sex.
Don’t need a man, per se. But I could go for one dipped in chocolate.
Stephanie is right, enjoy it now. Being married with kids isn’t all its cracked up to be, especially if you and hubby struggle with your relationship, and everyone does.
Don’t get me wrong, marriage is wonderful if you’re with someone compatible, but children are a whole ‘nuther story. All my married friends w/kids are all overworked, tired, broke, and cranky (not even in an endearing way). Even the ones who seem “to have it all” have moments of resentment, but I’ve never met anyone who chose to not have kids resent their choice.
You’re a lovebug. Of course you don’t ever want to take back having your children, but, once you do have them, it’s something you CAN’T ever take back. It’s not like moving from NY to Texas and deciding, nah. Once you decide, it’s forever. So enjoy every moment of your “I don’t feel like it” moments… for soon you too might have a crankster prankster on your hands.