…and it is pink and lacy.
I’ve been single now for 7 years. And while I have dated, I knew during those relationships that they were nothing permanent, and I realized about three years ago just how much I enjoy living on my own.* And I want to make it clear that I arrived at that realization before moving to n.w. Iowa and coming to a second realization: that the likelihood of me meeting an attractive (to me, anyway) man here, given the small size of the town and the facts that I’m over 40, over-educated, over-tall, and overweight,** is pretty much nil.
Anyway, for at least three years now, I’ve thought of myself as a kind of born-again spinster of the Katharine Hepburn (or Granny Weatherwax, for you Pratchett fans) variety — a tough spinster. A no-nonsense spinster. A leather spinster. And then today, after a visit to the pet department of the local farm supply store (I’d gone in for flea spray and that’s a whole ‘nother story), I found myself at home putting new collars on the dogs. Oh, the collars themselves are serviceable enough, black nylon with plastic, backpack-type pressure buckles, but they are overlaid with strips of ribbon, like these.*** Printed ribbon. Matching ribbon. Cute-little-dog-bones-and-flowers-covered ribbon. And it gets worse: Violet’s ribbon is pink & purple and Ricky’s is shades of blue. And then I thought, “Oh, it’s not that bad. The really crazy single women dress their dogs in little outfits.” But when switching over the tags from their old collars to the new ones, I realized that, more than year ago, I had Ricky’s engraved ID tag made up as a blue bone. And Violet’s, which I bought in April, is a little. pink. heart.
GOOD HEAVENS, PEOPLE! CAN’T YOU SEE THAT I’M ONLY ONE HARLEQUIN ROMANCE AWAY FROM CROCHETING VIOLET A LITTLE DOGGIE PROM DRESS WITH MATCHING DOGGIE BLOOMERS AND SOME KIND OF PERKY DOGGIE TIARA?!
Okay. Deep breath.
I’m going to spend this weekend reading a gritty, noir-esque fantasy novel and drinking beer, or possibly neat scotch (more likely munching peanut butter m&m’s, but we’ll pretend otherwise). Perhaps I’ll rent a movie centered on a spinster — Turn of the Screw….no, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie….no, Jane Eyre……wait a minute, isn’t there one story in which the spinster is neither crazy and/or sexually deprived-depraved nor going around falling in love with a married man who just happens to have imprisoned his crazy fire bug wife in the attic?
Sheesh. It might have to be scotch after all.
*Which isn’t to say I wouldn’t like to date, or even form a long-term, monogamous, emotionally supportive, you-have-your-house-and-I-have-mine relationship. Or shag George Clooney.
**Plus, I have it on good authority that some men find me intimidating. Wusses.
***Except I paid A LOT less!