Sometimes a Man is Just a Man

One of the most frustrating and embarrassing side effects of being a Still Single is that I can't even mention a guy in an anecdote without my family or friends pouncing upon the idea of him as a potential mate.

While I'm relating a funny incident at church or a maddening issue at work, my friends or family members will suddenly turn the focus of the entire conversation to my lack of a love life.  I could be telling a story about shopping with a co-worker at Walmart and returning to my car only to discover that a homeless man had broken into it and was currently sleeping in the backseat and who, upon arrival of a police officer, insisted that this was really his car and we were the ones trying to break into it and claimed the window was broken because "the aliens like it that way" and that it had been that way for years, in spite of the fresh glass shards on the driver's seat, which, he said, were diamonds.  And my loved one's response would be, "So. . .was the police officer cute?"

Arrrrrrgggggghhhhhh!

The really embarrassing thing is when this conversation takes place where a third party could overhear it.  I'm terrified that the third party will think that I'm as desperate to get married as my loved ones are desperate to get me married off.  Can't a guy just be a guy?  Can't I have a guy friend, acquaintance, co-worker?   I don't see every male who walks the planet as a possible husband; why do they?

I feel as though I should start every story with the guy's bio so they can see why he's not a potential soul mate:

"This guy at church--43, married, two kids--was telling me that he thought it might snow again this weekend."

"Joe who fixes my car--mid-70s, nice guy but a chain-smoker--says I'll need new tires before next winter."

"My new neighbor--late-20s, divorced, one son, smoker, drinker--came over the other night around 10:30 to borrow a plunger."  (Sadly, that last one is not hypothetical.)

What exactly in my mention of these random men in my life makes my loved ones sit up and think, "Ding-ding-ding!  Husband Material!"?

I find it all so embarrassing because it seems that my friends' and family's only criteria for a guy for me is that he's 1) Male and 2) Breathing.  Really, that's all they know about the guy who's popped up in a story I'm telling. 

Shouldn't I be a bit pickier than that?

Shouldn't I have higher standards for the man I'm going to marry?  Didn't married people look for more in a potential spouse when they got married?  (Gracious, I hope so!)

The attitude seems to be that I'm like a carton of milk that's way past its Best-Used-By date.  Or that I'm the last kid to be picked for elementary PE softball teams, and I should just be grateful to be picked by somebody.

But here's the thing:  I don't have to play softball.  That's one of the truly lovely things about being an adult:  no longer am I forced to participate in team sports for its character-building benefits or to uncover my (deeply) hidden athletic potential.

I don't have to take whoever will have me.  I can wait until a guy comes along who would make a really great teammate.  A guy whose selection means something.

I am choosing to be patient, and my friends and family will just have to be patient, too.  And someday there will be a guy who doesn't just pop up in my stories but has a starring role.




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