I'm despairing. Every time I get on Facebook, I'm reminded. It's as though it's out to get me. So and so is now engaged to Mr. Cute Artsy Intellectual. So and so is now Mrs. Athletic Businessman. It's a royal conflict because I love love. I do. I really do. Not only do I love love, but I love weddings. They're the ultimate creative opportunity. There's stationery to be designed, budgets to be trimmed, and 60 day cleansing diets to get on before the big day, not to mention clever ceremony and reception sites to pick out, and future in-laws to placate. It's a fabulous business. If I didn't like art history so much, I'd be in the wedding business.
But back to my despairing… Facebook. It's malicious. I might as well set a daily reminder on my phone "Don’t forget, Georgie, all your friends are getting married and you’re not… and you have no prospects, and you haven’t been on a date in ages". Departing from my generally confident, down to earth disposition, a girl has to ask, What's wrong with me? Do I have secret flaws that no one can bear to tell me about? Do I have a multiple personalities disorder I don't know about? Is it bad breath?
It's not as though I'm miserably existing alone and forlornly pining away over my cross stitching. Most days, I'm content to be Miss Georgia Delaney Hawthorne. That's been good enough for me for 23 years, so it's good enough for today. Then there are days like today. I've been known to be sensible, but sometimes I just want what I want right NOW or not ever. I either want Mr. Wonderful to walk through the figurative door, sweep me off my figurative feet and carry me off on his figurative white steed, or I want to join a convent and spend the rest of my days kneeling in prayer on stone floors and growing vegetables.
My Aunt Lisa, ever the practical one, suggested I scroll through my options and see if I can come up with anything. The idea enticed me for a little bit, but how unromantic is that? I'm a strategy-oriented kind of girl, but do I really want to have to explain, "Well, kids, I met your father thanks to my carefully planned strategy to find the right guy." No thanks. I would stoop to eating grilled grubs, but not strategizing… right? Maybe I'll meet him at dance class. Ha. I did go back, by the way. I've been three times now. If nothing else, my wardrobe selection has improved. It's dreadful really. I'm doing it more as a character exercise than anything else now. It's like leaping and falling, knowing when you leapt that you'd likely fall, then gathering your dignity, smiling and doing the same thing ten more times. Maybe practicing public failure and humiliation will come in handy for my convent application, I just won’t mention it was dance class.
Much love, she said drily, rolling her eyes,
Miss Georgia Delaney Hawthorne
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