Maybe single is something I’m supposed to be. Even in this Noah’s Ark, two-by-two, hand-in-hand, double-decker world, I’m soup-for-one. I relish my freedom. I love to flirt, can come home very late (or very early depending on your perspective) and not have some explainin' to do. I never get the wet towel. I fully provide for myself financially; I’ve bought cars, houses, a college education. I can program most electronics. In fact, only once in my 40some years have I extolled, “Him. I want to marry him”. But did that moment in time have more to do with a) I was in love or b) I had decided I wanted to dance at my wedding to either “Cherish” by The Association or John Lennon’s “Oh My Love”?
But as 20 faded into 30 and I peek into 40, perhaps Mr. Townsend said it best, “In life, one and one don't make two, one and one make one”. I don’t grasp romantic signals. I recall a sweet boy named Kevin who leaned in to kiss me in the front seat of his old car (don’t you miss front seats without the center console?) and I laughed in the milli-second before lips met lips. Laughed in his mouth. I had zero idea he wanted or had any thought to kiss me. And he never wanted to again, go figure.
Before I go on, no I'm not 12. Yes I “know” men in the biblical sense and have a strong sense of…adventure (wink, wink). I am, however, goofy and awkward when it comes to romance. I can do you, I just can’t say “I do”. I’m not the flowers and chocolates, I wanna sing you a love song, cry along with Meg Ryan movies type. I don’t think men find me "girlfriend" attractive. I’m the funny one, the one you drink too much tequila with and end up kissing. I never even make it to a holiday or the Valentine gift.
But I really do like tequila.