I know the title screams cliche, but it’s the best one I could come up with when trying to explain to my co-workers why I am on the verge of 28 and still single. To be honest, I’ve reached my limit. I’m at the breaking point, because if I have to hear one more person tell me they don’t understand why I am not married or pat me on the back and tell me it will happen when I least expect it, I’m going to light it up and burn it down. I will go all Office Space on someone if I get one more “well intentioned” suggestion on how to find and keep a man. Trust me, no one is more aware than I am that my ovaries aren’t getting any younger, but my problem is bigger than my lack of trying, the city I live in (which is one of the worst for dating and singles in the country), my job or circle of friends. The issue is that I am a Jane Austen girl in a Sex in the City world. I am an eighty-five year old woman in a twenty-seven year old’s body. I am half modern woman and half 1950s house wife.
Some people would read this and think that’s exactly what every man wants, WRONG! That’s what every man wants in movies and novels, not in the real world. Now, let me prequalify by saying that I do not live with my head in the clouds. People hear Jane Austen and they think I want to bust out Regency Era garb, british accents and needlework. That’s not the case. I’m all about finding the balance. So, while I’m not about to decorate my room with Mr. Darcy posters, neither am I going to light my bra on fire.
What I love is the solid morality, the propriety and modesty of that time. Men were men and woman, woman. Love was simple and straightforward. On the flip side, I also love the advances of my age. I like my iPad and air conditioning. I like that I have tattoos and piercings. I like that I can be an intelligent, strong and ambitious woman who gets to kick ass and take names in her career. I’m the girl who knows how to change the oil in her car but still expects men to open the door for me when they see me coming. I love being a woman and though I am unashamed of my femininity, I refuse to use it as a weapon. I am the proud prude who is so looking forward to having sex one day. I plan to be really good at it by the way. To me being a “good girl” isn’t a front for being a freak behind closed doors. I relate more to Nancy Drew than I do Beyonce. Do you see my dilemma here?
Let’s be honest people, the skirts are getting smaller and the times looser. I live in a world where I am constantly being told to throw the rule book out of the window. Do whatever floats your boat; but here is the thing, I like the rule book. The rule book has served me well up to this point. Because of it I have avoided a lot of heartache, brokenness, STDs and baggage.
I stand firm in who I am, what I’m about and what I want; but does being this way destine me for a life of spinsterhood with all the stereotypical trimmings of cats, moth balls and pathetic dinners for one? True, I like the way my heart flutters when I watch a sweet “happily ever after” scene on the movie screen or read one in a novel. I take them in and I enjoy them, but that’s where it stops. I don’t let these things shape my expectations. I don’t daydream about my own knight-in-shining-armor riding in on his noble stead to finally put a ring on it. I don’t let the fantasy become my reality. I know what the world is like cause I live in it Every. Day. All I am asking for is a good man with his crap together. Someone with integrity, respect and honor, which are words that have seemed to have lost their value in our current culture. A grown up without the mommy issues. Ok, so maybe I am looking for a modern day Mr. Darcy. Maybe that means I will die alone. At least I go to the grave knowing that I didn’t settle. That I didn’t attach myself to someone for the rest of my life who I don’t admire or respect.
I already know what some of you are thinking. Everyone settles and eventually so will I. Why? Because the desire for marriage will become too much? It’s called self-control and I have gotten abnormally good at it. Not to mention that marriage isn’t the end all. It’s not my means to happiness. There is a lot in life to desire and look forward to. What about sex? My Vag doesn’t control my decisions now, so why will it then? Besides, you can’t really miss what you never had. Well, what about companionship? It’s called friendship. Any other arguments?
So, in conclusion, to all my Jane Austen girls. Keep you chin up and your fans held high. Decide what’s important to you, being in a relationship or being happy with who you see looking back at you in the mirror; and maybe, just maybe, one day you can have both.