You wish, you hope, you pray...and the universe sends you this guy:
Really, eHarmony? Really? For $20 a month I should be able to filter out "men who treat a home center as a clothier" in my search options.
Dude, Chicken Little called and said it was a false alarm. You can go back to storing your catch or mixing a small batch of concrete...or whatever else one should be doing with a five-gallon bucket besides wearing like a palace guard. Sigh.
Sometimes I really think God is just mocking me. The Big Guy's like, "You've got a pretty good sense of humor, Tina, but I can one-up you. I'm God." For example, I own a home that overlooks a Catholic seminary. That's right, a whole campus full of single, clean-cut educated men lacking face tattoos that I can't have. Well played, God. Well played.
Of course, maybe He intends for me to be single. Surely all of these mismatches can't be signs from God? I told you, though, He's a funny guy. But really, what would I blog about..."Cooking for One: How not to get tired of eating the same entree for dinner three nights in a row because you couldn't split the recipe" or "Living Alone: How many deadbolts are too many?"
Maybe He's teaching me patience. And tolerance. If the latter is the intended lesson, then this blog certainly isn't helping my cause. Every post probably pushes my bridal registry back another year. By the time it comes to fruition it won't be Orrefors crystal, a Hudson's Bay blanket and a Frozen Concoction Maker, it'll be Fixodent, a new hip and matching lift chairs. I just keep hoping that I'll be walked down the aisle at some point by my dad before getting wheeled down by six other relatives.
Even the soda machine at work mocks my singleness. I bought a Diet Coke the other day and got a bonus can, too. Sweet, right? They said this:
F*** you, Coke. God put you up to this, didn't He?
Really, eHarmony? Really? For $20 a month I should be able to filter out "men who treat a home center as a clothier" in my search options.
Dude, Chicken Little called and said it was a false alarm. You can go back to storing your catch or mixing a small batch of concrete...or whatever else one should be doing with a five-gallon bucket besides wearing like a palace guard. Sigh.
Sometimes I really think God is just mocking me. The Big Guy's like, "You've got a pretty good sense of humor, Tina, but I can one-up you. I'm God." For example, I own a home that overlooks a Catholic seminary. That's right, a whole campus full of single, clean-cut educated men lacking face tattoos that I can't have. Well played, God. Well played.
Of course, maybe He intends for me to be single. Surely all of these mismatches can't be signs from God? I told you, though, He's a funny guy. But really, what would I blog about..."Cooking for One: How not to get tired of eating the same entree for dinner three nights in a row because you couldn't split the recipe" or "Living Alone: How many deadbolts are too many?"
Maybe He's teaching me patience. And tolerance. If the latter is the intended lesson, then this blog certainly isn't helping my cause. Every post probably pushes my bridal registry back another year. By the time it comes to fruition it won't be Orrefors crystal, a Hudson's Bay blanket and a Frozen Concoction Maker, it'll be Fixodent, a new hip and matching lift chairs. I just keep hoping that I'll be walked down the aisle at some point by my dad before getting wheeled down by six other relatives.
Even the soda machine at work mocks my singleness. I bought a Diet Coke the other day and got a bonus can, too. Sweet, right? They said this:
F*** you, Coke. God put you up to this, didn't He?
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