Her Quest: The Single Girl's Resolution? Start Now!
“I won’t even look for a mate until my house is clean,” my friend announces when I ask her about her dating life. I don’t have the heart to tell her, but my friend, who diagnosed herself a hoarder after watching that “Hoarders” show on A&E, will never pair up if she has to make room for him first.
But I must admit I’m a mate-search procrastinator, too. I always have some task on my to-do list to accomplish before I can set about to invite someone to share my life.
After the Great Christmas-Cookie Feast that was my holidays, for instance, my body is in no condition to be groped and squeezed by a man. So I’ve taken myself off the market while I hide out in oversized sweatshirts on the gym treadmill until the day I can fit into my come-hither jeans again. Also, I’d like to get this whisker-removal cream working first, and bite my way through a pack of Crest White Strips, and line-dry and lavender-spritz my bed linens so they’ll be fresh and inviting. And buy matching bra and panty sets for every day of the week and clean out the litter box with bleach and, for that matter, maybe get my 15-year-old cat through the final stages of her kidney disease so I won’t have that disturbing IV bag hanging on my bathroom hook next to my bathrobe. Oh, and buy a new bathrobe, something silky that shows just a hint of post-treadmill thigh. Then, only when I’m toned and smooth-chinned and pearly-whited and cat hair-free, then he can come on over and be mine.
Funny, though, how, all those times I’ve spent hours beautifying myself ― soaking in a 30-minute bubble bath and painting each toenail red and drawing smoky liner around my eyes and straightening my curly hair and sliding into a new dress ― funny how I’ve always found myself back home later, scrubbing myself back to plain ol’ still-single me. And that perfect version of me with the visible biceps and the July tan and the perfect camera angle who greets potential Match.com suitors in a perpetually good mood and quick wit, she hasn’t managed to snag Mr. Right yet, either.
Let’s face it, how many people do we know who met their mates when they were at their best? The minister stuck a microphone in my friend’s face at her wedding and asked her where she and the groom had met. I happened to know it was when she was drunk as a skunk sitting under a table with him at a college keg party. She was graceful enough to answer simply, “In college.” It always seems to be the ordinary everyday moments when ordinary everyday folk fall for each other. Moments for which you can’t plan, no matter how hard you try.
So what are we waiting for, ladies? We may have a clean house every Saturday, but the dust will always settle in again by the next Friday. We may win the battle of the bulge, only to go through a wicked bout of PMS and ruin our diets with a whole pan of brownies. If we wait for the perfect moment, we may miss out on the perfect guy for us. Anyway, isn’t the perfect moment when we are the real us? Don’t you want to find someone who loves you even under your zit cream and doesn’t expect you to wear mascara to bed?
It’s that time of year to make to-do lists, to set about making ourselves the best we can be. As for our quest for love, I’m thinking the best makeover for us procrastinating single girls is not that we must lose five pounds or always have man-friendly beer in the fridge. Grab a pad of paper, here’s a pen you can borrow. Write your to-do list with me:
Get out there.
“I was putting up my Christmas tree when I got the phone call,” says Teri Johnson-Hiett, referring to the moment she found out she had breast cancer. It was right around Thanksgiving in 2005, eight short months after losing her mother at age 51 to the same disease. Teri was only 29.
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