Diary of a Mad, White Girl

I am Bridget Jones. On certain days. Minus the cigarettes, boos, and loose morals. And swearing. Incidentally, I am also a brunette. I'm trying to tap into the positive here. I go through stages of chaotically motivated self reinvention/improvement. I love my life in general - love the family and the work, but I'll admit, the single factor does seem to bother people - oh for real, it just got to the part in the movie where she's at the dinner party and a dozen people stare at her after she's asked why there are so many single women in their thirties. Yeah, I'm watching it right now. No, I'm not in my thirties, but you have to make the adjustment from London to rural East Texas. I'm in my mid-twenties. It's the same. Trust me. The people I know love me the most (I count myself in that group) never say anything about my singularity, and I don't believe they care. Complete strangers, however, or people whose business it most assuredly is not, are quite uncomfortable with my unattached state.

It is considered bad etiquette to ask someone what they do for a living at a social engagement. Is it not also rude to ask someone if they're seeing someone special? Or, even worse: "So why aren't you married?" My answer: "I don't know." Am I supposed to know? Because I don't, really.

Then I'm told that I need to "put myself out there." Ahem. . . have these people seen what's on the market in my neck of the woods? No, thank you. The pickins are slim.

Moral of the story - I'd rather be single forever than settle for something mediocre just to fit a mold others consider to be acceptable. I hope if you're single and reading this, you can feel the same way about yourself.

FYI - I am leaving in the morning to take seven students to Knoxville for national competition. I'll be away for a week, so the blog will be silent. Not that that will be a big change, I am pretty much posting once a week anyway. That'll change come summer, I promise.