I have a theory... Everyone knows the age-old story of some innocent small child who is challenged to face some fearsome beast, only to find out they're cute and all warm and fuzzy on the inside. In modern times, it seems to always be a group of the aforementioned pre-teens who have to face some sort of supremely dilapidated house where some sort of horrific creature, whose true horrors none can fathom, resides. The story that comes to mind is "The Sandlot." A bunch of pre-pubescent boys accidentally hit a baseball over a fence only to try to outsmart a fearsome beast who is hoarding treasure like Smaug (for those without nerdy inclinations, the dragon from Tolkien's The Hobbit). Eventually they defeat the creature only to realize he's just a big lug with a heart of gold and they decide to tell the guy who lives in the house about what happened. At which point they meet a kindly old gentleman who used to play major league baseball but lost his sight and now, more or less, keeps to himself. While the rest of the universe focused on the moral of the story (when you do something wrong, just be honest about it/don't judge a book by its cover, etc.) I was so fascinated by the old man. What did he do all day? What did he eat at mealtimes? Did he believe in astrology? Does he celebrate holidays? Does Santa bring presents to kindly albeit capricious old shut-ins?
As I reached my teenage years, people would start asking where I saw myself in ten years and I started saying that I fully intended on becoming some form of the scary town witch/cat/bag lady. The one who wanders around town dragging a cart filled with junk and eventually heading home to a rickety house with a seriously overgrown yard that looks like it would only be fit for habitation by a truly horrifying creature. I even proclaimed at that early age that I assumed I would chase the town's children off my lawn waving an old piece of wood with rusty nails while screeching, “GET AWAY FROM HERE!” Now at this point, adults would either look shocked and mumble something like, "weird kid..." or they'd laugh and say, "I'm sure you'll find something."
College soon approached and the wording changed slightly. People still reacted in shock and said I was odd (not untrue) but the ones who laughed it off had changed their tune. Instead of "You'll find something..." they started saying "You'll find someone..." At first, it didn't bother me because I found it funny that they didn't understand my humor. But the seed had been planted. I started to doubt if I had been using that story to justify being what I assumed I always would be: "terminally single." Sure, maybe I would meet some nice nerdy boy who totally got me, but it felt like the odds were certainly not in my favor. As I hit my late 20s, however, I was able to see this with new perspective.
As you hit your mid-twenties, everyone, it seems, starts getting married. Not just your friends but people you hated in high school. The girls you thought would just party through their 20s even tied the knot. Then as if the universe is a giant game of Texas Hold 'Em, they up the ante. Suddenly everyone is pregnant. You run into people and they're inflated as if they're stealing a 20-pound turkey for Thanksgiving. Then suddenly, and yes for us single-lady holdouts it seems instantaneous, everyone has the kids and the spouse and the house with a yard and a strong old oak tree to hang a swing or another cute something-or-other. If you're lucky, when this happens you'll have some form of career or job that you're madly in love with to distract yourself, even if you don't have a boyfriend in any traditional sense of the word. If you don't, you'd end up like Kristen Wiig in Bridesmaids: In a tailspin of self-pity because everyone else seems so content with their lives and here you are barely hanging on by a thread.
There are a few things dreaded by single people. Being the only single person at a dinner party. Going to a bar as if you're ready for battle to ward off the advances of mangy curs who seem they'd be better suited to rule as a pirate king than bring you on a date. Finding out that the one ex who you were serious with is suddenly getting married. All of these would send a weaker person into the throes of woe begotten misery. You, however, are a pro and can handle all of that with grace and aplomb. The two things that do grind your gears are dreaded questions, always posed by non-single people. The first being, "When are you going to settle down and get married?"
A. Does it look like I'm some sort of fortune teller? Is there a magical crystal ball that I'm unaware of that will find that person who doesn't make me want to strangle them 80% of the time?
Then there's the even more dreaded statement that causes an aghast reaction each time. Maybe you're at a family party, or at a friend's new housewarming festivity when someone needs you to hold a baby. Don't get me wrong, I'm a strong proponent of clocking baby time. Plus they smell so good and they're all mushy and soft. Then in the midst of your blissful baby time, someone comes up and says, "Makes you want one of your own, huh? So when do you plan on having children?" At first, you start replying with witty repartee, "I plan on having a test tube baby genetically engineered sometime after 2050. I hear that's when the technology will really hit its stride." Or my particular favorite, "I don't. I'm holding out for legalized human cloning so I can raise a new me and live forever. Technical immortality!" After a few years, however, these questions start to annoy and frustrate. Suddenly you want to defensively reply, "It's none of your business, kindly old woman who is clearly Satan in disguise. I WILL NOT GO TO THE DARK SIDE SO STOP ASKING, DEMON SPAWN."
Which brings me to my brand new perspective on the town shut-ins. Those who get a bad reputation as the eccentrics. Maybe they act crazy so the world's "normal" people will stop fucking asking when they're going to settle down and have babies. Perhaps they find it far easier to create this kooky persona than to worry about answering these incredibly intrusive questions. When I answered these questions as a kid, I just enjoyed the shocked looks I received from the adults around me. Now when I answer these questions (while still thoroughly enjoying the incredulity of those around me) I feel a greater affinity with the eccentrics of our society. They may be unconventional, but at least they're original and share my deep love of cats.
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