Sunday Musings

Funny how few people understand the happiness a gal finds with being single. Funny how many of them worry about my being single as if I were dying of cancer or suffering from addiction. Their intentions are almost always good, so I don't get too irritated by their concerns; I just keep on living and seeing where that leads me.

But it continues.

For a couple of years now, C's boyfriend, F, has been auditioning (yes, that is the right word for it) potential dates at the neighborhood Peet's for me. F has very high standards for me. Too high. No man seems good enough. He's been talking about this one guy, Bachelor X, for several months now.

I keep asking, "When's F gonna deliver the goods?"

"Soon," C will say.

Now, apparently, F has some new potentials in mind. Let's call them Bachelors Y, Z, and AA. I said, "Why doesn't he just line them up in front of me, cattle-call style, and we'll get through them far more quickly?"

For all that I'm flattered by F's dedication, and even more flattered by his standards (far higher than the standards I had for myself in my 20s and early 30s, when men with pulses and high libidos were good enough for me) I feel like saying, "Yo, F! No man is perfect!"

But I must remember my patience. It's taken me 35 years and 11 months to figure that out. As F has only been looking for me for two years, I guess he's got some figuring out left for himself to do.