For me, meeting Prince Charming wasn’t going to happen on the World Wide Web.
I often hear my mother, in my head, “When can I expect grandbabies? I’m getting old, you know?” Somehow the sound of her voice resonates when I find myself walking pass a beautiful couple cooing at Baby #3, while their Child #1 and Child #2 neatly-coiffed, brown-eyed, perfectly dressed children follow in tow.
My response was, at one time, “I love my independence; freedom! No diapers, no late night feedings, no responsibility to anyone except to myself.” It’s been four, five, six…ten LONG years later since my mom started her determined inquisition and still no baby, no ring and no baby daddy. Even after a decade, Mom grew weary. And, I can only assume that she, like me, is waiting for “him” to pop the question.
I admit that I appreciate a home without the pitter patter of little feet, at this time in my life; however, I am reluctant to say that I’m completely happy. I want it all. But, when you’re already juggling a career and finances are a circus act itself, who has time to settle down for a family. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. I’m deathly afraid of becoming just another baby mama. I don’t care to be Super Mom, and I’m not ashamed to say it. Who sets out to become a single mother, only to raise children alone? In addition, my work schedule is pretty hectic. So busy, that I could honestly kill a goldfish. Unless, I hit the lottery or meet Mr. Warbucks, I don’t want to compromise where my heart is, at the moment.
Dating older men is out of the question. Sugar daddies is just a candy; not someone I want escorting me to the company picnic. “Awww. Is that your dad?” The water cooler at the office would surely runneth over with jokes and quips about my date, “Grandpa.” I like my steaks seasoned, not my companion. “Men can have babies at any age,” they say. And, my response, although rude, is honest and forthright, “Depends and Dementia can also happen at your age.” Thus, he would virtually become a baby, himself.
And, then there’s the Down Low, I’m-not-gay-anymore, Multiple-baby-mama-having, Penitentiary lifers, Self-hating, Deprecating, Already-taken, Sleeping-on-your-best friend’s couch, Habitually unemployed, Misogynistic [*sigh]…selection of “prospective” males. The window of opportunity for a blissful marriage seems to be closing right before my eyes.
I took matters into my own hands, once. I donated $24.95 to match.com, only to leave the site prematurely. Nope! I didn’t give it a chance. For me, meeting Prince Charming wasn’t going to happen on the World Wide Web. You choose a photo then pray that the the person in the pic matches the specs in his bio. It’s creepy-esque; like picking a suspect out of a photo lineup hoping you got the “right guy.”
Or, like buying a car from an online dealership. You’d never know if you had picked a lemon until your first oil change. BUT, I DIGRESS. Although it would surely lack the wonderful “first meet” story, I’d rather take my chances bumping into Mr. Right outside a nightclub. Ugh! So unromantic.
Yet, I forge on. At least, I’m still young…ish. Right?
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