Us on Eagerly to be Wed

I wrote this with my friend, D, quite sometimes ago…

Now, this is not going to be a writing about single girls whines… or is it? Well, we would like to say that this is a shallow analysis of the common condition of mature single girls. Let’s get one thing straight, mature here means near 30 to maybe 40?! Okay, now we are on the same level.

Starting with the fact that girls or should we say women at that age is getting more and more anxious of getting a steady boyfriend and even wanting to get married, that’s a common fact. D once said that it is our body screaming that it needs to procreate as soon as possible since our time is almost up and creating ruckus in our brain to find itself a sperm donor, thus there is this anxiousness of finding a man. As for me, I always said that it’s the culture, the society that’s forcing us to be a couple since we reach the age of maturity

But after we talk about it over and over again… yes, it is our favourite subject to talk about – we reach to a conclusion that… we’re only looking for excuses, justifying ourselves of this urge of finding a man. The fact is, we both fear the same thing… We are afraid of being lonely. One day our dear family and friends will be too busy living their lives, buried in their own problems and they will have no more time to spend with us. We are afraid of being one of those old ladies who live alone with a cat, with no one to talk to when they are sick, sad, bored, and worse…no one to share when they are happy.  Oh, Gosh, D have this great fear that one day she’ll choke myself while eating a shrimp hakaw, and no one is there to give her the Heimlich Manoeuvre. She’d die without anyone knowing, after a few days and the cat will eat half of her face out of hunger.

We both have this crazy thoughts and feelings, not that we’re afraid of being left out by the world, but we realized that in Indonesia, to get a male ‘partner’ after you have 30 candles on your birthday cake is rather challenging. After you cross that line, the chance of finding a male suitor would be almost the same as being hit by a lightning.

People always say that we’re too picky, we’re a dreamer, and we want the impossible, etc. etc. But basically, what we have is minimum standard for males in physical appearance, earning power and I.Q, using ourselves as the benchmark. Picture us as, two late twenties single women with university education and a day job. No, we didn’t graduate as Summa Cum Laude, we don’t have the corner office and we don’t have a name plate stuck in the door neither. We’re not exactly supermodels (duh, y’think?) but with the right shade of lipstick and a pair of shoes we can still turn some eyes. So, our ideal guy is not that IDEAL after all, heh?

So here we are, nearly 30 (we both confused whether we’re considered old or still young), looking for Mr. Right (not Mr. Right Now or even Mr. Always Right 😛 ), scared of being single until the day we die, with no one to take care of us and become bitter spinsters. Oh, being young bitches is fun, but old bitches… hm… y’think?! Flirting with guys is fun, but what fun is it when the guy you’re flirting with is half your age?

Let alone, the most frequent questions (old people’s all time favourite), “when will you get married?”, “who’s your boyfriend now”, “you know….so-so just had a baby….”, “So-so met her husband in blah… blah… blah…“ Being single is not like having a huge zit, when no one will pretend that it isn’t there. Everyone seems so happy to remind you about your chronic marital status. Oh, why can’t they leave us be?! We are already terrified with the thought of cat eating our face when we’re dead, and still we have to put up with these nosy questions that aren’t helping at all. We know that many women have to face the same thing; it is a never ending circle…….

But, no matter what we’re going to keep our minimum standard. We’re not going to be one of those women who reduce their standard in choosing a male partner down into a penis a pulse. We both realized that we want more than a walking and talking dildos.

Well, we just have to train our cats to dial 119 then, just in case…