Hey, Mom. I know that lately you've been concerned that I don't have a boyfriend. And that I'm seemingly OK with it. And that, therefore, I may never give you grandchildren. And you're right: the mere fact that I'm not married/engaged/in a serious relationship indicates that there is something deeply wrong with me, possibly pathological, definitely egregious, and I must figure it out now or live the rest of my life alone, like the expired cheese puff you found between the couch cushions: old and sad and utterly revolting.
But the thing that you want so desperately for me -- to get married and then half-get divorced -- is a lot more complicated nowadays. Being single used to be simple: you were either engaged to be married, or you were 12. But today, singlehood requires a lot more patience. And like everyone else, I have to go through the Five Stages of Being Single before I can truly find "the one."
So, do you get it now, Mom? Some people fly through these stages and end up happily ball-and-chained before 25. But not me. I'm on a slow crawl. And right now, I'm firmly entrenched in Stage 3: active defiance against the entire idea of romance. I don't need a man right now. I'm perfectly happy with where I am. And I don't even own a cat.
I know you're worried, but you have to be patient. Maybe one day I'll meet a nice guy who can deliver your blessed grandchildren (because, of course, he'll be a doctor too). But you don't want to push me too fast and drive me into the arms of some incredibly-fertile, economically-unstable miscreant with whom I'll have a really stupid, really ugly, four-legged heathen baby, so let's just take a deep breath and remember that I'm still young and don't need to be tied down right now, OK?
And yes, I know that writing this was a huge waste of time that I could've spent on finding a boyfriend but it's also possible that there is someone out there who, upon reading this, will say, "She's the one!" and decide to find me, hunt down my address online, secretly stalk me to learn my likes and dislikes, and then, armed with that information, sweep me off my feet so that we can live happily ever after for the rest of our days.
... Fine, I'm in Stage 4.
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