I'm not diseased. I'm not cursed. I'm not even sad and miserable.
I'm single.
And no matter what anyone tells you (especially my mom with her desperate fixation on grandchildren), I do make an effort. I take this apparent defect very seriously.
Boy troubles
Granted, I started late - preferring to read and write stories in high school over actual living. But once in college, I quickly "found" a boyfriend, and he instantly conferred upon me the status of "good wife material."
The facts that I neither actively sought him out nor wished to settle down forever with the first James Dean-wannabe I met, seemed immaterial to everyone.
And I found his presumption about our future charming, until I discovered "wife material" meant he expected me to sit quietly by while he screwed around with non-wives.
I instantly dumped him. Do you blame me?
From there, I fell seriously for the bad boy, then the crazy boy and then the most-intelligent, most-popular boy.
I ended up in a long-term, verbally abusive, co-dependent, tortured romance with a pretentious philosopher who showed lots of promise.
It took several years to learn that promise doesn't get me help with the laundry.
Determined to do better, I gritted my teeth and sallied forth into the single Seattle scene.
Making the effort
I mingled - and realized I was in big trouble. I met guys, but one night I realized that in a matter of months the majority of them would bore me silly. I simply couldn't decide if that would be before or after I drove them crazy.
The next day, someone I knew through work - a man I'd immediately judged inappropriate and completely wrong for me - called and asked me out.
I went, only because I knew I didn't have any better ideas.
And I fell, only when I got over myself and realized he was everything I'd ever wanted.
Our whirlwind romance ended with whirlwind tragedy. We got engaged and married; he got sick and died, all before we finished sorting out the wedding pictures.
From this I learned that profound experiences - like love, illness and death - don't necessarily take time.
On the other hand, dull experiences - like bad dates, unhealthy relationships and going to New Year's Eve parties stag - often take more patience than I can muster.
Varying experiences
Widowed in my late 20s, I feel lucky to have found a special someone. I don't bet money on finding another, but I continue to look seriously, even if I tend to move on quickly when I feel boredom drawing over me.
I relocated to a foreign country for a change of pace and discovered dating doesn't always translate. Flirting has its subtle shades and is best done where you know how you come across.
I experienced my first stalker.
I discovered that even married men with young children will take an innocent flirtation more seriously than intended.
Back in Seattle, I met men through friends, the Internet and out dancing. I dated older men and a couple of younger ones, and I found it depends on the man, not the age.
I had two dates with two different men on the same day, and I had so much time pass between dates that I forgot how quickly an innocuous touch can turn into a predatory grab that demands full-court defense.
Single status
Now facing 40, I hear regularly that my continued single status is a challenge I haven't given the proper attention and dedication it deserves.
As if.
I've never been more serious about anything in my life.
And if, at times, I cycle quickly through the men I meet - the length of my romantic relationships has gotten decidedly shorter as I've aged - I only hope that in my 20 years out mingling I've learned the difference between a frog and a prince and that a jerk will remain a jerk no matter how long you date him.
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