It’s no secret that I’ve been focusing on my singledom a lot recently. I made the conscious decision over the weekend to focus my attention elsewhere. Mainly on myself. I had begun to scare myself a bit last week. I was literally dreaming of an engagement ring. I mean, come on Shanna, get it together sister!
I like shiny things. I like diamonds. I digress.
My point is, I was seriously losing my cool. I had ventured into desperate territory and as Erin Foster aptly points out in the week’s Single Girl’s Guide, no one likes a desperate girl.
I was missing the point. Dating is supposed to be fun. It’s about meeting different types of people, getting to know them, deciding they’re awful, and moving on. I kid. Sort of.
I was behaving as though a man was the answer to all my problems. As though meeting my Prince Charming would result in dinner parties with scintillating conversation and weekends in the Hamptons wearing all white. I mean, a girl can dream, right? A more accurate depiction of a relationship would be brunching with my girls on Sunday so my man can watch endless hours of football and occasional dinner parties where I almost give myself an ulcer from stressing over what to bake for dessert. Now that seems hot, right?
My point is, if I want dinner parties with scintillating conversation I best throw one. If I want to see a concert, I should go. If I want to eat a pint of ice cream I should…call a friend to talk me out of it.
I’m not broken; a half of a person waiting to find my other half. I’m me. Sometimes I wear leggings everyday for a week. Sometimes I cry during commercials. Sometimes I laugh uncontrollably at the worst possible moment. Sometimes I bake overly complex desserts and force feed them to people within close proximity. I’m human. And single. No big deal.
See Mom, I’m fine.