Monday, April 19, 2010

Beginnings

When I was a little girl, I never dreamed about getting married. Although I recall owning a wedding dress or two for my Barbie doll, and staging some faux weddings between Barbie and Michael Jackson or G.I. Joe (depending on which one was readily available), it wasn’t because I pictured myself in Barbie’s place, or even necessarily wanted Barbie to be tethered to a man so she could start popping out fake children. It was just something to do. After all, Barbie had a Dream House, a Ferrari, a Dream Store, a hair salon, a pool, a camper, and a whole wardrobe of clothes and shoes. Why shouldn’t she get married?

And indeed, why shouldn’t I? But as the chips have fallen, I am 35 years old and never married. It’s not as though I haven’t had the chance, because I have. Somehow I always managed to avoid that fork in the road, whether intentionally or accidentally. And I’m fine with it. What’s odd is that other people have a problem with it.

Whyaren’tyoumarriedwhydon’tyoufindamandon’tyouwantkids. The neverending refrain from my mother, my aunts, my grandmother, various acquaintances and co-workers. But really – I’ve never had any desire to get married. The majority of people I know who are married seem fairly miserable. And why would I want to share half of my now rather big income? (After all, since I wasn’t focused on men, I focused on my career – to great success.)

The way I see it, I missed the boat by not doing it when I was in my early twenties and knew a lot less. Not that I was stupid back then, but I was certainly more stupid than I am today, and certainly way less cynical. And before you start jumping to conclusions, you should also know that I am relatively attractive, have a normal BMI, love fashion, and have a variety of interests.

So, where are we? 35, single, no kids, financially secure, homeowner, great job, living in the heart of Chicago. What more could a woman want?

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