I was sitting at
a nameless person’s kitchen table, sipping on some sweet iced tea when a
metaphorical sledgehammer charged my brain. After expressing frustration over a
recent romantic situation, the kitchen hostess responded with, “I hear that ‘so
and so’ church has a great singles group.” Cue
needle-off-record-screeching-halt moment. Admittedly, having dealt heavily and
painfully with some God issues at the time, I was irrationally averse to such a
community to begin with, but it wasn’t the seasonal church-y frustration that
stunned me. This is where they send us,
I thought. A contrived holding pen where
we can rape each other emotionally until maybe making some manipulated
spiritual connection that will OBVIOUSLY lead to an ideal marriage. Enlightened
and offended, I chewed on that Southern Singularity beef jerky for the next six
months.
I was twenty-two
at the time. The fact that this meant I was past my prime and reaching some
unspoken expiration date confused me. “What
does this mean about the South?” I asked myself. “What does this mean about me?” Bladdy bladdy blah. I went to
lingerie showers, endured Facebook wedding countdowns, and even wholeheartedly
celebrated with the friends who I thought completely ready to jump off the
cliff of matrimony. And then, while choking down champagne during an especially
heart-wrenching Daddy/Daughter dance at a reception, I discovered something : I
do not even want to get married. (Yet.)
Shocking horror
of all horrors, arriving at the truth that I may be slightly uncertain about making
a decision that will affect my life every day. Forever. I navel-gazed selfishly for a time, and then thought about
a hoped-for you. A y’all, if you will. A community of people who can
intelligently say that IT IS OKAY TO BE ALONE. Because, the truth is, we aren’t
really alone.
So here I am,
giving a voice to the culturally pitied single ladies of the South. Maybe we’ve
been dealt a shitty man card, maybe it’s by choice, but regardless of your
previous travels, it sure does blow to feel like you’re in a holding pen before
being shipped off to a ticky-tacky suburban land that bears no resemblance to
your current life.
…Is it just me?
Surely not,
because I see you in those church singles groups that are mostly just created
to address a problem rather than form community anyway. I see you on E Harmony,
far too young at that, because your culture has told you that you are past the
deserving age for a Pinterest wedding. And I especially see you ladies blowing
through thousands of dollars on friends’ weddings that make you feel like there
is something wrong with you.
Oh, I see you. I
am one of you.
The fundamental
problem with our group is the uncertainty of membership duration. We are different
from AA or other various support groups, in that typically we aren’t struggling
with some mental illness or addiction. (Though many married early twenty something’s
might think we are.) For this very reason, we find it difficult to accurately and
publicly voice concern, primarily because most of us won’t be in the group for
life, and even if we are dedicated to and love this club, we could go out for
drinks after a weekly meeting and subsequently be fatedly introduced to some
drop dead gorgeous soul mate human. This is not to even say that we’re waiting
for this universe-aligning moment to even happen all at once, because right now
we just happen to have other priorities.
To summarize, it’s
basically unfair, because I want to rally together and make bonds, but the
permanency of the aforementioned promises are paper thin due to our obvious magnetic
attractiveness.
So….join forces?
Come up with a better response to the ever-condescending, “Oh, you’re just waiting
around for the right one, aren’t you?” (Gag.)
I thought it high time to address a problem in our dear old Dixie land :
Why the hell
can’t we be single and happy?
