Dear God, or Universe, or Creator, or WHATEVER YOU WANT TO BE CALLED!!!!
I don't ask for much. I really don't. I live a humble(ish) life, I put forth a great effort to treat those that deserve it with respect, and kids love me. All I want is a DECENT MAN IN HIS 30s TO ASK ME OUT.
No more 20 year olds and certainly no more men in their 50s. I cannot. I just cannot. 30s PLEASE. JUST ONE. SO I CAN STOP BEING SO CYNICAL.
And cynical I am. Always have been, really. Even as a child I remember my mother saying, "You're too young to be so cynical." I thought it gave me street cred. Now I just find it to be annoying.
Then last night, something magical happened. Turn up the fire, snuggle up with a cozy blanket, and let me tell you a story.
Yesterday evening, I hung with my Israeli friend. We laugh a lot together and he's more cynical than I am. He reminded me that he thinks I will die alone, childless. I kind of agree with him.
I saunter back home, thinking I should get to bed and wake-up early for Cardio Barre. If I'm going to be alone forever, I should look fabulous.
I am greeted by my housemate, B, and his NEW boyfriend. Let's call him NYC. They were popping open a bottle of champagne. I complain because champagne is my kryptonite, and I promised myself I would get up early for Cardio Barre. NYC instantly calls me skinny. Falling in love...
THEN he tells me to wait and runs off for a small box, wrapped in silver paper, with a blue bow on top. A gift. For me. The lady of the manor. The gift: a bracelet
This is the way it's supposed to be. We call this act well-mannered. Taught correctly. Good parenting. I could go on and on.
Everyone reading this post: According to my Israeli friend, there is a very good chance that I will never reproduce. PLEASE teach YOUR children to be well-mannered like NYC. What a wonderful world this could be.