Realization

December 14, 2010

Today I heard again, for the umpteenth time, the following question: “When are you going to find a man?” it was followed by, “I don't want you to grow old alone.” This second part was added by my daughter who is studying in France and is blissfully not alone. Of course, I am not alone, I have an apartment full of children. I call them children, even though the youngest is all of sixteen. At the moment I have the two 'boys' and the girlfriend of one of the 'boys' living with me. It's crowded, noisy and fun. I don't mind, keeps me young.

Anyway, back to the question. When am I going to find a man? In this case a replacement man, since I ended a 10-year relationship last Spring and aparently I have an EXPIRATION DATE on my forehead.

The question is: Do I? Do I have an expiration date, other than the obvious one? Are women prone to spoil if they don't find a buyer in a suitable amount of time? Will green mold start to grow on my privates? Do my pheromones smell like Penicillin? I have to know!

So, I have decided to find the Man, the Saviour, the stale goods purchaser. I will do the diet and the excercise penitence; I will remember to apply facial creams every night; I will buy more provocative clothing; I will even meditate my wishes. And finally, I will make my friends change the question to: “Where have you been? We never see you anymore since you got a new man.” Let's face it, these are the same friends who will be consoling me a year from now, telling me how rebound relationships never work!

Yes, I will give my self a year to do this. And I will document this madness. If I don't find a suitor – heck, a booty call – in this alloted time, well, I don't know. What happens to stale bread?