Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Head tilt, sigh, "Don't worry, you'll find someone."

I like to think my pet peeves list is rather short.  Sure, it is annoying when I ask for Dr. Pepper at a restaurant and they say, "No, but we have root beer."  It is moderately irritating that no matter how much I spend at Victoria Secrets I never get the good glossy bag.  And hey, I cringe when someone has a weak chin.  There is one thing, however, that makes my skin crawl.  Makes me want to throw myself into a catapult and jet off into the sunset.  The good ole head tilt, sigh followed by the words, "Don't worry, you'll find someone."  Any single person knows exactly what I'm talking about.  It usually comes right after someone asks, "Are you seeing anyone?" and the answer is no.  I want to tell them I'm fine with it and give them a number of a good psychologist because apparently they aren't.  Thinking about the countless times this has happened  sends me into a tizzy of self deprecating analysis, leaving me only to question, where have a gone wrong?

Considering this question, I feel I need to start from the beginning.  No, I'm not talking Genesis, rather Daniel Brent.  Daniel Brent was, well, I don't know how to describe who he was.  Daniel was a good friend of mine from kindergarten.  Yep, I can trace things way back to this time, when I was afraid to go down the slide, hated eating anything green, and loved Little House on the Prairie.  Well, Daniel was a good friend of mine in class.  We laughed, cried, shared our sandwiches with the crusts cut off (j/k, my mom was way too cheap to cut the crusts off), gave each other cooties, and were genuinely good pals. 

Everything was great until Valentine's Day.  He gave me a little bear that said I Love You and a kiss on the cheek.  I was disgusted.  Seriously, don't I sound like a mean little girl?  He gave it to me and I seriously just kind of stared at him like, "What is wrong with you?"  Some kids are good at Candy Land, others puzzles, still others being generally ornery, I apparently was good at stabbing a young boy's dream.  That was the end.  I don't really remember how things happened after that, but I still think of him some days.  Could my current state of spinsterhood be a result of this moment?  Is it possible the disgust I felt at that moment when a nice, genuine, friendly guy attempted to share his feelings set into motion a series of unnatural events in which I am now destined to date loser after loser until I have served my time?   Nah, but I wonder, was I born choosey?         


  1. We all have a Brent Daniels in our past. Mine was Dwayne Kirkpatric from first grade. He gave me a ring that my friend Kathy wanted, so I gave it to her. He never gave me another look.

  2. Would it be too depressing to say that eventually, people will limit the "head tilt, sigh, don't worry" thing to just a sigh? And unfortunately, it is not the kind of sigh that clearly communicates the person's emotional response to your swinggleness . You know the kind of expressive sigh I mean - like the sigh of frustration that escapes your lips when you realize the essential missing ingredient in your recipe is still in the grocery store - the store you left not 30 minutes ago for the second time. (The second trip was for the ingredients you needed when it became obvious the first recipe wouldn't do for the event you are going to later tonight)

    This sigh is different. It is longer than a customary exhalation, but not so long as to expose the emotion underlying it with any degree of certainty. And it always creates an awkward pause in the conversation.

    I feel uneasy by their sigh when I hear it, but don't know why. How do I respond? Did they just blow me off? Was this a manifestation of their pity for my sad state of affairs? (Pun intended) Are they thanking their lucky stars they are not single? Are they secretly thinking that the reasons I am alone are obvious to everyone but me? Or something else - less negative, more caring, more heart-felt?

    Who knows? I sure don't. What I do know is that my swinggleness is not a curse, a torment to be endured, or the mark of the undesirable mate. It is what it is.