This weekend I went to a wedding, and while I was listening to the vows, I thought to myself how unimaginable and otherwordly it seemed to feel so wholly certain about someone else. For better or for worse as long as we both shall live. And then I started counting on my fingers...and then my toes, the years that have passed since I was last in a real relationship.
Sure I meet nice guys...good looking guys, smart guys, guys illuminated by a ray of light from the heavens and a neon blinking sign accompanying them reading I WILL SOMEDAY MAKE AN EXCELLENT FATHER. And yet I always find something wrong.
He's too tall.
His car is really nice...too nice.
He used the wrong version of "there" over Facebook chat.
He texts back with questionable efficiency.
He texts back.
His dental hygiene is borderline obsessive compulsive.
I think he has a girlfriend already?
He's good on paper.
His friend's best friend once ran over a squirrel with no remorse. I can't date someone connected to a cold blooded rodent murderer. Would YOU take that chance?
I don't remember how to be in a relationship. How to be someone's someone. I suppose I did it at one point. Did I say the right things? Did I nod in the right places and yell, "That's absurd!!!!" when appropriate? Did I mold my life around his in agreeable compromise? Doesn't sound like me. I don't remember how to learn someone so well that his interests become mine and mine his until there is no line separating a him from a me; until all that's left is an us. I don't remember what it's like to go out and have the one person you could possibly ever want already beside you to fill your buzz with a contentment. I don't remember feeling secure about someone else's intentions.
At this point in my life, with a thousand and one more pertinent issues to attend to like crying in front of Monster.com, and drinking wine with my mom, even just being around men seems like a distant memory from another lifetime. I've always expected the next best thing to magically waltz into my life, but then as the days pass and the only man you see is your father or your 72 year old neighbor, George, you wonder why you took for granted that guy with the nervous tick. And then I remember that I'm actually really happy without being anybody's somebody, and I should just wait til that bolt of lightening hits. Besides, relationships are probably like riding a bike, right?? Speaking of which...I don't remember the last time I rode one of those either...
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