Dreaded Question

There are a few questions I dread in life, and the other day someone asked me one of them: "Why are you single?"

I dread this question because I never know how to answer. Usually the person asking is only an acquaintance, which is part of why I hate it. How do answer such a personal question when the asker is not someone you know well and trust?

I've never understood why someone asks this question. What answer do they expect to get? I always repress the urge to give an answer that I know will make eyebrows raise and cause rumors in coffee hour.

"Umm... I'm single because I think marriage is an outdated social custom dictated by men in order to subjugate women. You can be free of your husband and children, too."

"Well, you see, I'm a hunchback, and men don't like hunchbacks. Pigs!"

"I'm too busy saving the squirrels. Do you know how close they are to extinction? If we keep feeding them with our garbage they will all die of gluttony in 20 days!"

So my fallback answer to the question is: "Because no one's asked me yet." Har-dee-har-har.

Which is true- no one has popped the question yet. But that's only the tip of the iceberg of singleness for me.

I'm single because I'm picky. I want a churchgoing Orthodox guy. Oh, and he has to be kind, romantic, intelligent, good father material, fun, friendly, positive, grounded, stable, trustworthy, and love me to distraction, too. This may limit the field, but I don't care.

I'm single because I lack confidence with men. Years of being turned down, watching all of my sisters and friends get asked out but me, and one terrific case of heartbreak have made me doubtful of my appeal to others.

I'm single because I am overweight. And I don't mean that men are just into physical appearance (some may be, but many are not). Being overweight means wearing your sin on your sleeve. You only have to look at me once to know what one of my big spiritual struggles is; it's written all over my body, and this infuriates me. I hate that strangers get this little peek into my soul without my permission.

Most of the time, you don't come to know a person's biggest failings until you are quite close to them. You see their best first, so that by the time you get to see their worst, it's okay: you can deal with their worst because you know their best. But if you see the worst first, will you even bother to stick around to see their best? If someone blows their first audition, they don't get a callback.

And there's so many other reasons I'm single, and they're not all negative. For example: I've moved around a lot as an adult, so I haven't necessarily been able to develop a relationship. And I could go on and on.

But I'll close with the only time I've been asked the dreaded question and enjoyed the outcome.

I was visiting some married friends who have small children, and over the breakfast table, their young son, out of blue, looked up from his plate and asked me, "Are you married?"

"No," I answered.

"Why not?" he asked, with his 5-year old innocent face covered in jam.

Without missing a beat, his mother answered for me, "Because her handsome prince hasn't come yet."

His little eyes widened with wonder as he looked at me, then back at his mother and said, "She's a PRINCESS??!!??" (Imagine that, a real, live princess at your breakfast table, eating toast!)

My friend and I laughed, and she looked me in the eye, then at her son and said, with all sincerity, "Yes, she is."

And so I am. My friend can see it: my frilly dress, my cunning little shoes for dancing at the ball, my necklace of rubies. She sees it, even when I can't see it myself.

Moi

So funny

After all my deep soul-searching posts of late, I offer you this, in honor of the massive overdose of 'Arry Pot-tah I am sure to take this month.

(If the link doesn't work, go to Youtube, type in Harry Potter Puppet Pals and click on "Mysterious Ticking Noise.")

Tee-hee.

Sparklers

The 4th of July has meant different things to me over the years. For a long time it meant seeing fat Shriners on toy scooters in the local parade, lemon shake-ups, and fireworks over the ballfield in the park. When I was a teenager, it meant the most frantic and stressful workday of the year (I worked at a movie theater.) When I was in college it meant going to visit my mother's kin near St Louis, sitting under the Arch and watching big names in country music while waiting for the fireworks to start. As an adult, it means an annual day off. (Notice none of these things involve a surge of patriotic emotion!)

But one of my favorite memories of this holiday is one from a long time ago, while we were still living on The Farm- so named because it was out in the country, not because we did any actual farming. The Farm houses a lot of pleasant memories- it was large property with multiple acres of grass to run on and trees to climb.

On this 4th, my dad brought home several boxes of sparklers- a novelty to us. When it got good and dark outside, my parents took us (only three kids at the time) out in back of the house. Dad gave us each a single sparkler and lit them one by one with his blowtorch. At first, we stood where we were, drawing swooping patterns in the air, admiring the figures we were making before the sparks faded.

As each sparkler died, we'd come back to Mom for another, and then turn to Dad to have it lit. Soon, Sis began to run, holding her arm out, laughing at the streaks she was making. With each sparkler, she ran further and further away, until she finally turned around the corner of the house and disappeared from view. She was gone a long time, well after my own sparkler had died out. I worried that she wouldn't be able to see to find her way back; my ears listened intently for her to call out, "Help!"

But then she suddenly reappeared, breathless, begging for another sparkler. She was so fearless, it seemed. I wanted to be like her- unafraid to run out into the darkness, boldly leaving a fiery streak in my wake. She couldn't wait to run off again, away from all of us- I wanted to experience the same thrill she seemed to find out there.

But I couldn't go by myself- it was too dark, too expansive out there. What if I got lost? I had a wildly over-active imagination at that age (well, every age), and could picture all kinds of things happening to me out there by myself.

I tried to get Sis to let me run with her, but she refused. Apparently the fun was in doing it all on your own; the light of another sparkler would make your own stand out less brilliantly.

Then Baby Sis (who eventually became Middle Sis), who was so young she didn't even go to school yet, began to run as well, getting further and further away. This was not to be borne- even the one who couldn't yet write her name was not afraid to run out away from the light off the back porch.

I continued to stay close to Mom and Dad, waving my sparklers with them, watching my two sissies first running off into the black yard, tracking them by the lights they carried until they were hidden from view, then waiting for them to reappear. Each time she returned, Sis would tell us, triumphantly, where she'd gone, how far she'd made it.

I desperately wanted to be that brave, that independent. It wasn't until I noticed that the supply of sparklers was getting thin that I finally took a deep breath and ran off, full tilt away from Mom and Dad. I didn't even wave my sparkler around; I merely watched it as it burned down, trying to get as far as possible before the light faded.

I made all the way around to the opposite side of the house, to the stand of trees in front of the house, before my light gave out and I was alone in the darkest spot of the yard.

Now those of you that have spent any time in the country know what darkness is like out there. For you city dwellers, picture night time on your street. Now take away the glow of street lamps, the light from your neighbors windows, the headlights of passing cars, and the general glow of a city. Now add a lot of trees to come between you and the moon and stars. No joke- it's REALLY dark.

This was the hard part, making my way back to where my parents were. I walked as quickly as I could, which wasn't very, because I didn't want trip over a branch or put my foot into a hole. It seemed to take forever to find the first corner, and then make my way down the long side of the house and turn the next corner to see Mom & Dad & Sis & Baby Sis. Mom was just raising her hands to her mouth to call out when I said, "Here I am!"

The sparklers had all been used, and as we went into the house, Sis asked, "How far'd you make it?"

"All the way to the front yard," I answered, "past the Climbing Tree."

"D'you make it to the bushes?"

"No."

"Me neither."

And I thought, "I ran just as far. Just as far as Sis!"