Eligible men seem to come in waves.
I missed the first wave, which was in the early twenties. Those were the ones who got married because they were in love, because they eternally and everlastingly adored the object of their affections. The next wave would appear to be the late twenties full of restless people who’ve spent the earlier part of their lives working hard and playing hard. And now just like everything else in their smartly planned lives, the need for companionship has to be tackled next.
I guess both sexes do it, women less than men but the numbers are increasing. I’m part of this second wave. I’m not anti-marriage as my family fears. I just don’t want to get married ‘because everyone else is’. For gawdssakes, I stopped following fashion when I was 15! On the other hand, I don’t have any rose-tinted glasses notions about marriage. I am not looking for that Price Charming who’ll take care of me and sweep me off to Wonderland. Not for me, I’d like to have my feet on terra firma at all times, thank you very much. It is a practical desicion, plain and simple. I don’t want to be a social anomaly, being forced to prove that ‘my way is alright too’. Make no mistakes, singledom is tolerated as a fleeting phase in one’s youth at best, definitely not a permanant state to be. And this goes for both sexes.
Now the trouble is that desicions taken later are tempered with the ‘wisdom’ of the years but also burdened by the fears of those very same years. I’m a little sick of meeting great guys, intelligent guys, good-looking guys, smart guys who want ‘fun but no strings attached’. Most of them have been in long relationships which didn’t work. Several of them have survived being cheated upon, being dumped, two-timed, harassed. Well, so have I. Not to say that I’m really welcoming love and the red hearts with open arms. I have my fears to overcome. I just can’t be fighting someone else’s fears as well.
My biggest grouse with the male sense of humour is PMS jokes. The drive-you-crazy-then-say-“Oh, is it that time again, then?”. Damn it all, if I was bleeding every single time you annoyed me, I’d be dead, you stupid man!
Now I think I’ve come up against the second most annoying line.
I was gurgling back to a baby, making a grinny two-year-old giggle in the shop, keeping two little imps amused while their parents finished their meal. And then it comes,
“You like kids a lot?”
“Want me to give you one of your own?”
I took a deep breath and said, “I want to have kids with somebody, not from somebody.”
Get it? I think he did, since he vamoosed and hasn’t been heard of ever since.
The next wave isn’t so much a wave as a messy little puddle that needs to be fenced in carefully to keep it from soaking you through and then evaporating.