This morning, I was on a shuttle bus chock full of retirees on the way to the airport, after spending the weekend with my parents. It was dark outside and I was tired (and frankly, I’m not much of a morning person), so all I wanted to do was plug in my iPod and zone out to an eclectic medley of songs I like.Unfortunately for me, Selma from South Carolina had other plans…
After some cursory small talk, she asked if I was traveling alone, to which I replied, “Yes.”
Then she asked where my husband was.
What I wanted to say was, “I packed him in my suitcase.” What I really said was, “I’m not married.” Selma let out a long sigh, “Don’t worry, dear, eventually you’ll find The One. Or even The Three, like I did.”
It’s a conversation I seem to find myself in fairly often. I must look like I roam the Earth searching behind doors, around corners, and under tables, like I misplaced my keys, muttering, “Now, where DID I leave The One again?”
Well, Selma: I do not believe in The One. (Or The Three.)
Love isn’t like the cross-town bus -- like if you miss it, you’d better pick up a sensible pair of sneakers because you’re doomed to walk forever. No! If you miss it, just wait -- another bus will swing by 5 minutes later. I mean, nobody expects you to live in just one house, or have just one friend, or order just one pizza topping until the end of time.
Why do we set the stakes so high when it comes to love?
Just think about everyone you meet over a lifetime. There are SO many different people in this world that you can be compatible with. I refuse to believe I could “miss out” because I wasn’t paying attention in geometry class, or I waited on the wrong line at the DMV, or I sat in 2F instead of 2A on a flight from Orlando to New York -- all while The One passed me by.
I guess my point is, I believe in The Many (but not all at the same time -- I’m not that kind of girl!), because you can’t miss out on love.
At least not forever.
Married friends: This is your cue to come out of hiding and tell me why I’m wrong. Comment below!
4 comments:
Based on your theory, maybe you should have given second looks to the following guys:
Scott W, the one who ate peanuts and threw the shells on our dorm room floor;
Mike P, who came by for a visit and picked his toenails on your bed;
What about the guy who peed in your cute basket weave shoes at Kelly's (I think he may have also stolen your beloved Reagan photo);
how about the Moody Goonie or of course there's always the Stag!
Let me sign you up for match.com and I'm sure you can catch any one of the above buses!
But seriously, I do like your theory!
Ha -- I totally blocked out the toenail picker. It was too traumatic. How is it that the guy who peed on my shoe is the best option here?
I'm so tired of wondering what is it with taxi drivers --in my experience--that makes them so utterly concerned about my marital status?!? I vow to only take public transportation to airports in order to avoid this line of discussion.
Kara: Too funny. Hang in there! Next time a nosy cab driver asks you if you're married, start coughing and wiping your nose. Germs scare everybody these days. Then he'll leave you alone!
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