Skip to main content

The Single Life

Just returned from a party. 12:15 am, The Prince is out of town, and feel like I wish I had spent the night painting the kitchen and eating some ramen.

I'm afraid I just can't pass anymore into polite society. I insulted at least three people. My favorite? When I said that 39-year-old men dating insane women are obviously not interested in something serious. Now when did my grandmother decide to inhabit my body? Of course telling a guy that his television show is an example of sexism run rampent because they won't hire female writers is up there too.

The thing is I've never been good at chit chat and small talk. But now, when I am racing from leaving the Rabbit mid-tantrum to a party stocked with 30-something singles, I find I expect a little more bang for my buck than people posing and flirting and patting me on the back like I'm some anachronistic throw back the '50s because I have a child. One guy told me that the reason he drinks diet pepsi is because he needs to watch his weight -- and that he's not some mother who can gain weight. WHAT THE HELL????? (And I'm back into the size 7 jeans....FYI)

I guess I always assumed I would have a child. I wanted one. The husband part? I guess I never had a plan for that. But somehow having the "entire package," as one woman said, makes me a pariah. And worse, now I have a gaggle of women friends who often bark at me like I won the magic ring at some carousel and am lording it over them. (I don't know how one can lord hearing "poopies!" 65 times a day...but, uh, okay....)

Maybe I've gotten too exhausted from late night nightmare soothings, early morning viewings of Dora, and all day marathons playing Thomas Train to find playful banter, party chatter and "I'm just teasing!" comments about my mommy-state something I can deal with anymore. Or maybe it's just me.

Help me if I ever find myself heading back to the single life. I'm doomed.

Comments

KPB said…
I hear you loud and clear. And I figure if we have to endure years of sleep deprivation, husbands who simply do not get IT - as in, everything - and need every single emotion and daily function spelt out to them and mind-numbing hours on the floor pretending to drink cups of tea, all the while wishing it was gin, we can speak our mind and piss people off.

There has to be something in it for surely???
I am just the opposite... I love getting out of the house and out to a party so much that I don't care who it's with or whether they're single or married. In fact, these days, I'm finding the singles to be much more interesting. I'm tired of telling my birth story for the hundred and twentieth time.

Can you tell I just had a party over the weekend? It was a nice mix of singles and marrieds. I think it was the crowd you were with more than their status because I've been to parties like the one you're describing, full of pretentious posers interested only in how they're perceived by everyone else. Ugh.
Bec said…
Sounds like many of the women I've worked with/for rather than socialised with. I also lost an (I thought) best friend over the whole "you've got it all now, haven't you?"... ouch.
So I feel your pain/annoyance/boredom with the single childless chick/bloke thing. Hope the rest of the festive season treats you more kindly. And where are you two lately? Get your butts into gear! Only I am allowed to go on blogstrike and that's just because the wonderful Kim will carry the load when I do!! Come back to us all soon.
Manhattan Mama said…
Oh the shame. BEc, you're so right. We've been on some min-blog strike, YLM is moving and I am...well, read above. And Lucinda, I am actually looking forward to my party this Saturday (which will be a combo of all walks)...I think it was that particular group mixed with the comments that set me off...and Kim, who said we can't spike the tea just a little....!

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

A friend recently emailed me to say that her big memory of her stay with us last year is that she had a great birthday, one of the few where she didn't 'act like a spoiled grumpy princess'. She tried to give me all the credit but as I explained to her, it was all down to having a fellow female organising the birthday fun rather than leaving it to her partner. Her email got me thinking about birthdays and how very different men and women are in their attitudes to celebrating special occasions. It also had me thinking about my birthday two years ago when I threw a major tantrum in the Carrefour car-park after being told that we were off to do the weekly shop, kids in tow, which was simply the final straw at the end of a very uninspiring day. In contrast, my birthday last year was rather lovely (a morning on my own in a spa with no mobile coverage, pure selfish bliss). This year - in a few short months, eek! - I'll be hitting the grand old age of 38. This will be my las...