Every single time I've ever made absolute statements in my life saying "That will NEVER happen", it always fucking happens.
"I'll never weigh more than 130 pounds!"
"He'd never cheat on me!"
"I'll never workout less than 5 days a week!"
"I'll never shit myself while wearing sweatpants and no underwear while walking the dog!"
"I'll never have to see what's out there in the world of dating because I'm MARRIED! I can't even IMAGINE!"
Well someone should have shook me like a snow globe and told me to shut my pie hole because when the Divorce Papers Fairy pulled into the driveway (wearing a short sleeve dress shirt and clip on boy's tie), I knew those words should not have left my big, fat mouth.
I'd love to be able to just savor every second of being single, of having the freedom to do what I want, to revel in me time, to write in one of my many journals. To enroll in a cupcake decorating class and 3 book clubs while I let my bush grow out to look like I'm straddling one of the Jackson 5. But the reality is this: I don't want to be single. I have been free to do whatever I want because nobody has given a shit as long as the fridge is full and laundry is done for YEARS. Every time I go to Barnes and Noble I wander into that fucking journal section and somehow end up with three more, all with inspirational quotes about "finding your path" or "strength comes from within" or "who needs a man when you have a decent vibrator". I HATE writing in journals. My hand cramps up, the ink smears from my left-handedness dragging along the page, and I feel pressure to be writing something as prolific as the Malala quote imprinted on the $29.95 leather cover. And I personally like a well-manicured beaver because this is not 1987, not because I expect anyone to see it. If thongs were the panties of choice back then, there's no way bitches would be able to shove all that muff fur up there.
So I am TRYING to date. Trying to find someone who meets maybe 27% of the criteria I have in a suitable companion. I was aiming higher but have had to bring my standards down because there IS no fucking Prince Charming. There is no Mr. Right. I'll settle for "Mr. Ehhh, Why Not?" at this point. There just aren't a lot of men who are single at this stage of the game. Hold on, let me rephrase, there aren't a lot of moderately attractive men who don't mind that I'm (almost) divorced, have 2 kids who occupy most of my time and energy, and live in suburbia away from any fun city options for going out. Starting to feel like I'm going to lead a life of making fleece pillows for church craft fairs.
Even my friends have tried to monitor the single man scene in their small pool of guys they know.
"Oh my gosh, he's the NICEST GUY!"
Translation: He lives with his mom and favors mock turtlenecks from Kohls. And maybe plays with Legos.
"He's not THAT short."
Translation: If I wear heels he can officially use my tits as a travel pillow.
"He's really cute!"
Translation: He's missing teeth.
"His hair is kind of sporty."
Translation: Bald.
"He's kind of in transition."
Translation: Still married but will be willing to take you on as an extra-curricular activity.
"He's a self-motivated entrepreneur."
Translation: Broke as fuck. And smokes a shit ton of weed.
I joined a dating site. Go ahead, make fun. I would. Most of the guys that have similar interests, age range, and situations as mine look like child molesters and are 55-60. Anyone that is hot and early 30's or younger I automatically red flag. There has to be some MILF bucket list they want to fulfill and I'm not about to be the one to do it. Any guy in his 20's usually has to brag about the size of his meat stick after the initial, "Hey, you've got beautiful eyes!" opening line. Really? I've got some needs but Jesus H., I am not THAT desperate, Long Dong Silver. I am leary of men who have never had children. Because the "not sure" about having kids comment most definitely means they want someone who is down to eventually give them offspring. In case we haven't officially met, hi, I'm Molly and I HATE babies. There are very few men who say they are divorced, have kids, and are my age. And frankly, I suspect many of them actually are still married. That tan line looks pretty fresh on that ring finger, SinglStud69. I'll give you an A for effort though.
Not waiting for any knight in shining armor to ride in on his noble steed. Shit, at this point I'll take Paco the exterminator as long as he can show me his last 3 pay stubs, proof of citizenship, and he speaks decent English. Until then I'll be at Hobby Lobby buying 15 yards of fleece because it's on sale this week.
