How Ironic

" I feel so old!", she quipped. I did a double take, just to make sure she was talking to me. As she stood in front of the mirror reapplying her crimson gloss, I watched her reflection in the mirror. I noted that this child didn't look a day over 20, about 120 pounds and wearing the latest fashion trend. "Pardon me?", I stammered. This perky barely twenty something babbled on about the clothing choices of the younger women in the bar, she commented on how thin, young and risque the girls were. She confided that when she was their age she would have never worn what the "younger" girls were wearing now- and then she admitted that she felt too old to be in this particular bar. As she made some final alterations to her own attire and pouffed her hair, I watched her. You have no idea kiddo. No idea at all. I giggled, "Do you mind telling me how old you are?". She smucked her lips, ensuring the gloss was evenly distributed, and smiled. "22!" she exclaimed.

Instead of giving in to my desire to shake the twig and complain about how it feels for us older ladies, I opted instead to concede. "I know exactly how you feel", I said with a grin.

We stood alone in the washroom for another second, and with a flick of her hair she darted off. As I took a moment to stare at my own reflection in the mirror, I couldn't help but smile. It dawned on me that she must have thought I was give-er take the same age. If she only knew that 5 minutes before heading to the ladies room myself, my friends and I had just finished griping about all the college kids in the bar!

A Whole New Category.

Okay so I've been 30 now for little over a month. Nothing really new has transpired. I can't say that anything out of the ordinary has happened to remind me of my milestone birthday.

In the past month or so, I've been asked to state my age on two occasions (one cringing and one confidently), the latter was followed by an astonished 23 year old male (hot by the way), who gasped and informed me that he would have never guessed that I was 30.  How sweet. Wild thoughts ran through my head at alarming speed, and for a second I thought I may have kissed him passionately for his kind remark.  But gathering my witts, simply smiled and thanked him. 

Oh yes, and probably the most significant event was the survey I was required to fill out last week.  30 questions. As I responded questions 1 through 19 with ease, question 20 caught me off guard. There it was.  

20. What category does your age fall into? 

[ ] Under 18

[ ] 18- 24

[ ] 25-29

[ ]30-34

[ ] 35-49

[ ] 50 +

With a gulp, I checked the new category. A whole new category. 30-34. Wow. And there it was, the first time I officially had to put myself in a new age bracket.  I admit, I had a momentary (internal) freak-out. Why is it so damn  important for these surveys to know our age category anyway? 

Ummm...

Okay so maybe I was being a bit hasty- like, you know, I don't need a relationship because I love being unattached kinda stint.. But here is the truth- I am happy... but anyone who says they absolutely don't want a little loving is not being honest with themselves. Seriously, there are times when I secretly cross my fingers behind my back every time I walk into a new bar or am about to meet new acquaintances. Deep down, I don't think it would be so bad to drop the single status. I am reminded of a "situation" not too long ago, where being single was the worst thing that had ever happened and I would have just died to be a "we".

I had been invited to dine with some friends and we met up one fine summer evening on the street before entering. As I watched the people file in, I noticed some unfamiliar faces. My girlfriend confided that she had invited some new "couple friends". As I stood in line waiting for the Maitre D' to seat our reserved table of 12, I took a good look at the group around me and noticed that we were 13. The gang piled in and without hestitation a myriad of confusion broke out as people tried to figure out the seating arrangements to ensure that those two and these two could chat, and those two and these two couldn't sit next to each other... oh and those two and these two have nothing in common.... you catch my drift. Finally, after all were seated, the only one left standing was... of course- me. You got it: 12 +1. As the restaurant staff hurried to get me seated, they found an extra chair in the back room (our waiter was required to yell over the louder than normal chatter of the diners to another waiter nearest the kitchen to ensure the chair was retrieved). At last the chair arrived and I was placed at the head of the table (actually at the head of the table, in the area where the wait staff zoom through with plates and call orders to the kitchen- the seat where huffs were snarled as they squeezed past my chair).

If this wasn't bad enough, I was seated in front of couple I hadn't met before and after some brief introductions the new couple inquired , "Boyfriend couldn't make it ?". With scenes from Bridget Jones playing over and over in my mind, I stammered, "I'm single". "Really?", they chimed in unison. "Really", I maintained. The attention quickly turned as they engaged with the other diners. I excused myself and made a mad dash for the some air. As I held back tears that began to sting my eyes- I knew right there and then that sometimes I really didn't like being single at all.

The question.

There are times in my life that I feel like I am the star character in Bridget Jones- minus the stellar English accent of course. The times it seems everywhere you go and everyone you meet asks you how your love life is going. Pretty simply, its the most dreadful of all questions to ask.


Just last week in the middle of the fury of a shopping mall, I bumped into an old acquaintance. As she held her newborn close to her bosom and introduced her husband- I saw her eyes dart towards my left hand and then greeted me with a grin. "So" , she questioned, "whats new?". "Married?, Children?". As I smiled through gritted teeth, I most cheerfully responded that I am working in a field I love and that I am happily unattached. She smiled at me awkwardly. I couldn't quite read her expression and debated whether it was an awkward pity smile or if it was an awkward, "I'm holding my baby- I wished I hadn't gotten married- good for you girl smile". I chose the latter, and as we parted ways, I couldn't help but think about all the reasons I was in fact- happily unnattached.



Here are my top ten and they aren't in any special order:

1. Peaceful and restful nights sleep. No early morning shivers due to stolen duvets, no snoring, no cold feet. Just a well deserved night's sleep.


2. Answering to myself. I do what I want when I want. An afternoon at chapters with Starbucks and book browsing; crawling into bed at nine and watching a chick flick.


3. Argument and hassle free. My spirits can't be spolied by anyone else, or having to cheer anyone else up. The only arguments I have are with myself and usually involve heated debates on whether I should splurge.


4. Money. That trendy new outfit- or fabulous shoes. Mine. Mine. Mine. Two vacations a year. Mine.


5. Getting to know myself- my likes- dislikes and my in betweens. The peacefulness of my own mind.


6. Dating. Meeting new people and enjoying conversations about different things and getting to explore different personalities (and realizing that I am better off alone than with someone I dread).


7. No curfew- no explanations


8. The TV remote and couch are all mine. I can flip between the Bachelor, Americas next top model, Sex and the City and Biggest Loser without any hassles.


9. Free. Free to choose exactly where I want to go, be and do.


10. Eating the extra scoop of ice cream, slice of cheesecake or greasy dish with out any comments from the peanut gallery.

The Dinner Party

Falling in love. Check. Getting hitched. Check. Buying your first home. Check. Having a baby. Check. My social networks are quickly crossing off the milestone to-do lists. Let's be honest these are pretty monumental events in one's life. Each event being ceremoniously celebrated within the circle, followed by speeches, toasts, dinners, lavish gifts, laughter and of course showers. The one constant is that as friends, we still manage to get together ( a little less frequent as we would like) for dinner parties.


Whether its just the girls, or the husbands/boyfriends/significant others/partners are welcome- the women usually side off and dominate their own conversation. Back in my early to mid twenties dinner parties and gatherings were focused on our latest crushes, outfit options to wear to the next big party, who broke up and who got together. Purely girly gabbing and gossip. In the last several years, our dinner parties seem solely focused on ring sizes, color swatches, fabrics, baby names and bedroom schemes.

For some of us singletons, its easy to be happy but hard to contribute to these conversations. Incorrect, I've been known to bang out some really great decor tips, and some girls often invite me along for shopping support and critical decision making. Okay so other than that- zippo. I don't even know the difference between a princess and square or what the hell a karat means (the man who snags me will pretty pleased). The most difficult is the baby talk, or rather the new mom chatter. I'm not griping- its just when the new moms chat endlessly about which week this or that happened, or what occurred before, during and after birth- or their breast feeding schedule I have nothing to say (maybe that's a good thing) and even less to contribute. Listen, I'm not talking about a few minutes here and there- I get it- they have fallen in love with their new bundles- I'm talking about excessive and endless chatter- where they absorb themselves and often forget that there are other important topics of adult conversation besides their surprises at diaper change time.

I guess what I'm saying is- remember that other people in the world exist- that just because some of us haven't crossed off our milestone lists that we have nothing to offer a good dinner party. As I type these last few words of what appears to be strong opinion- my fingers are crossed that one day Karma doesn't come back to bite me in the ass.