The one thing I've always loved about myself is my ability to find the glass half full where relationships are concerned. Even in the face of the most devastating heartbreak, I've always managed to say to myself, "Self, it just wasn't meant to be. So he wasn't Mr. Right; he was Mr. Lesson That I Needed To Learn Right Now. Take what you learned and grow from it."
Well, those days are OVER!
I have officially lost all hope that there is that special "one." Out there in the vast world of drive-through restaurants, drive-through dry cleaners and drive-through car washes, I've apparently driven right past my soul mate.
Oh, sure, I've managed to pick up a few hitchhikers as I sail through my single life on cruise control, but for the most part, they've all been imposters. They all start off so shiny and full of potential as they smile and laugh at my stupid jokes and promise that they are exactly the man that I have been waiting for. And, likewise, they are thrilled to have found me, their perfect match in every possible way. They always love my outgoing personality, my independence, my sense of humor, my zest for life. Then, usually right at the end of the standard 90-day trial period, they still feel as though I am their perfect match in every possible way, if only I could change everything about myself that attracted them to me in the first place.
No, the days of taking a shower, doing my hair and spraying on my most expensive perfume to go to the gym hoping that Mr. Hottie Body who is benching 380 will come over and help spot me on the fly machine are over and done with. I just don't give a damn anymore.
And you know what? They can smell it.
Men are on to me. It's as though I've switched off the neon sign I used to wear on my forehead that read, "Kicking the hell out of 40 and desperate to be in a committed relationship," because they are suddenly coming out of the woodwork. I'm en fuego, baby! It's as though they can sense that I've joined the ranks of the bitter, angry, cynical female population and they suddenly love me!
A few weeks ago, I couldn't buy a date. Even ugly guys were giving me grief. I went to a holiday gathering at a friend's house, you know, one of those dreadful couples parties where they randomly throw a few singles into the mix for good measure. Pickings were pretty slim, but I opted to start a conversation with Mr. Fashion Don't in his hideous hunter-green track suit and open-toed sandals with socks.
He totally role-reversed me. Inside of five minutes, he'd raked me over the coals and then snubbed me. He asked for everything but a credit report before deciding that because he's an "oral surgeon," I'm a bit too far down the dating food chain to warrant one more second of his precious time. My head was spinning as I fought to defend myself to a man with more hair coming out of his nose than he had on his whole head.
Well, since I've adopted the "happily ever after only exists in fairy tales and ceases to exist in the real world at the exact moment that Prince Charming thinks it's hilariously funny to fart loudly and then trap you under the sheets, so to hell with it" philosophy, my stock is suddenly on the rise.
There I was in the middle of the self-help section of Border's, casually perusing such books as Why Love Doesn't Work and Dinner For One when I felt a tap on my shoulder. And who had the audacity to be standing behind me, smiling from ear to hairy ear? Yep, Mr. Ugly Green Track Suit himself. "Sonja? I thought that was you. Wow! You look...."
"Completely disinterested?" I asked, annoyed.
He snortled—half chuckle, half snort—"My, aren't we sassy? No, you look different. Did you change your hair?"
"Yeah, I haven't washed it for a couple of days. Now, if you'll excuse me," and I turned my back to him.
He didn't get the hint. "Can I take you to dinner sometime?"
Normally, this is the part where I say to myself, "What the heck? He has a pulse and a job, and he's asking, let's give him a chance, I'm not getting any younger for hell's sake." But being the newly installed president of the She-Woman Man-Hater's Club, I not so politely declined.
Why is it that the nastier you are to people, the more they are attracted to you? Oh, the human condition!
He wouldn't let up. Finally, I had to threaten to call security if he didn't leave me alone. He got the hint. As I paid for my books, the store clerk asked me if I'd like to get coffee sometime. I declined. There was a business card on my windshield from the oral surgeon; he'd scribbled, "In case you change your mind" on the back. En fuego, baby!
As I sat in my bed that night, feasting on a Macho Combo burrito and reading The Cheese Stands Alone, I felt empowered somehow. I realized that this could very well be my fate. And I was at peace with that, because while ending up by myself was never what I wanted, it was certainly better than ending up with the wrong person for the wrong reasons. And as I drifted off into a peaceful slumber, I was suddenly aware that my glass was once again half full.