I live alone, and I am very good at it. I would say for about 28 of the 30 or 31 days in a month, I fail to notice that I’m going about the household chores solo. That being said, I’ve recently made the executive decision to hire a house cleaner. (I may be one human, but that says nothing on account of my messes, which often look like the work of a bear clan…)
While I certainly anticipate the arrival of prince charming (must love shoes…or have a tolerance for all of mine), I’ve come to a crossroads where my willingness to make that “Saturday night I’m lonely lets hang out and act like we don’t like each other on Sunday” thing just isn’t worth its price tag anymore. As Melissa Etheridge’s familiar tune “I Want to Come Over” blared through the speakers of my red beetle this afternoon, I chuckled as she professed to her lover that she didn’t care about the existence of her lover’s other lover because she just had to have this lover for this one night. “I want to come over,” she croons, “to hell with the consequence…”
‘Yeah…’ I thought to myself as I listened, ‘…just wait until you see THAT bill in the mail next month, girlfriend. You won’t be saying ‘to hell’ with nothing.‘
But as I said, there are 28 days out of the whole month when I don’t deal with that itch, which leaves two or three days each month when desperation surfaces, when I find myself repeating in my head something to the more PG tune of:
“Oh, would someone just please come cook me dinner???”
Today was one of those days.
As work drew to a close, I suddenly thought of someone who would be the perfect contender for such a desire: fabulous chef, certainly interested in me, definitely someone who would be over in minutes if I so requested. Unfortunately, my sense of the moral high ground caught up with me. I nudged my friend Jenn to support me in traveling a little bit below sea level, just for one night. Jenn responded:
“It’s like just wanting to get a massage without them trying to sell you a gym membership.”
I laughed hysterically.
Truly, it’s not that “I don’t want the gym membership”, it’s that I haven’t found a gym…okay, we’ll quit with the metaphor here for a moment…a man…that I want to sign up for yet. I can assure you that once I do, that will certainly be “worth the consequence”, precisely because there won’t be any. That, my friends, will be one worth signing up for.