Plus Nun

Plus Nun

Adrienne BoettingerMonday,13 April 2015

This post is dedicated to all my fellow singletons out there: long may we rage.

There comes a point in your life as a singleton when your friends and family will give up hope of you ever finding your special someone. You’d imagined you’d be ecstatic when that day finally arrived — when every occasion didn’t find you staring at the consoling, tilted head of someone expressing her astonished melancholy that you hadn’t been partnered up yet. When your mother didn’t so much as hint at, but demand grandchildren. When your friends stopped assuring you there was someone for everyone, and you just hadn’t met your someone yet.

Oh, how wondrous that day will feel, you foolishly thought, when you could calm your fears that you were the most heinous person on the planet because how comes you remained alone when the mother of Honey Boo-Boo and other walking train wrecks had found the psychotic lids to their neurotic pots!?!

Except…the fact that friends and relatives no longer ask you in a pitying voice about your romantic prospects doesn’t feel all that awesome. And when one/many/all of them go so far as to suggest you become a nun, well, that actually renders you speechless. Don’t get me wrong – j’adore nuns. Catholic school left me feeling very warm and fuzzy towards the ladies in black and white.  I just never saw myself as nun-like, especially after I stopped being a practicing Catholic.

Besides, I continue to make half-hearted attempts to find a guy who is worth leaving my house for. And this brings us to my most recent foray into singles mingles which could be summed up with a quote from the ineffable Danny Kaye: “When what’s left of you gets around to what’s left to be gotten, what’s left to be gotten won’t be worth getting, whatever it is you’ve got left.”

And so it was I found myself at a happy hour sponsored by Match.com. By all accounts, the odds were in my favor; miraculously there were more men than women at this particular event. So I figuratively girded up my loins and set out to meet a non-douchebag to date.

Guy#1: the first man to approach me was nervously and profusely sweating as he broke out with the opening line of “Have you ever been to Tennessee?” Realizing it was going to be that kind of night, I gamely charged on answering his first question and gasping for air with his second question, “What are your life goals and dreams?” My answer of [sound of me staring blankly at him] did not deter him from telling me his goal was to spend more energy working on his love life because before he’d been too focused on making money. Which I soon found out meant working the checkout line at a supermarket for the past 15 years. It was when he followed up by asking me if I had met our lord and savior that I sprinted toward the bar for some liquid fortification before speaking with…

Guy #2: from far away, Guy #2 looked like a tall drink of top-shelf liquor in the teetotaling desert. Close-up, he was still somewhat physically attractive but that was completely overshadowed by his poorly masked disdain of women. First I heard his thoughts of women who talk for hours and hours and hours about our damn feelings. We just won’t shut up. Then I heard how the past 5 women he had gone out with all pretty much asked him to father their children on the first date. Finally he railed against women who were too focused on their and his careers and how their priorities were totally screwy. I had been gesturing wildly for my coworker to save me but then I realized I had to be my own hero, so I thanked Guy #2 for his time and made like a bread truck and hauled buns to spend some time with…

Guy #3: Witty, charming, attractive, smart — this was the guy I had been looking for. I slightly feared that I could break him like a twig with one good embrace but here was a funny, employed, self-possessed and self-aware single man and I was a somewhat smitten kitten. We had a fun and flirty convo and I was starting to feel a little optimistic, when he began ignoring me to chat up the younger cute thing sidling up to him. I would later confirm that he only dated women around 10 years younger than himself but in the meantime I was headed toward the final straw…

Guy #4: Recently divorced and not entirely convinced that all women weren’t the devil, this one chose me as his last ditch attempt at tricking a chick into going home with him. His attempt at cleverness involved writing his name upside down on his nametag, using a few choice racial slurs and then asking loudly why I was wasting my time talking to other people because here he was – Prince Charming (or Duke of Douchebaggery) ready and willing to take me on despite the fact that he usually went for much younger and hotter women.

That, dearest babies, was when I took my badass outta there to drown my sorrows in a bowl of sugary cereal and the love a faithful and furry friend who never makes me question my worth or sanity. I also consoled myself with the thought that the evening at least gave me a topic for a blog post.

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