things I couldn't have made up

This morning a guy I know told me about his intentions to get married.

That's great! You know, I didn't even know you were in a relationship.

Oh, I'm not. I'm getting married to myself.

I spent the next 20 minutes learning all about the benefits of self-marriage.

Oh, you can still get married to someone else after you marry yourself. It's just about loving and accepting the life you already have. I mean, how can you commit to someone else unless you've committed to yourself first?

I don't know, man, but I think I can spare myself the embarrassment of standing alone at an altar before all my friends and family dressed up as the saddest bride who ever was. Think: The Joker goes bridal.





*Shudder*

He then presented me with a book called QuirkyAlone: A Manifesto for Uncompromising Romantics. Flipping through (which, incidentally, was full of quizzes he filled out and passages he had highlighted -- TMI, buddy), I couldn't help but think about how misguided the whole concept is. Once the author lands a man, she'll be writing QuirkyClingy: Why Relationships With Others (Including, But No Longer Limited To, My Cats Fluffy and Tinkerbell) Are The Most Important Thing In The World.

As I returned the book I commented that the book, although super fun due to its occasional use of handwriting-fonts and celebrity quotes (bullet... through... brain...), gave me more of a feeling of depression than empowerment.

Kate, it's okay to be single! It's great! Just think about how many great, attractive single people there are out there -- in the world, and just in this city alone! You have to commit to yourself and accept that you're here on your own.

Eek, I guess I've made one too many self-deprecating jokes around this guy. I might whine a little, but that's more my sense of humor than anything -- I fully understand that the reason I'm alone is because I don't want that kind of intensity in my life just yet. I'm cool with the status quo, but apparently I've been labeled the bitter spinster, which is interesting because I'm twenty-f*cking-four. How has this guy already sorted me into his "Hopeless" file?


We spinsters-in-training don't give up on everyone else's dream of romantic bliss until we hit 35. Then we throw a huge I Give Up party officially taking ourselves off Der Laden of Liebe and resign ourselves to a one-bedroom apartment in a building without limits on how many cats we can have. I'm gonna get whole litters at a time, and then join a book club. Cats... books... life is good. Anyway, look out for that invitation sometime in 2019. Oh, and your bratty kids aren't invited. Get a sitter.

Or maybe it doesn't have to be an I Give Up party, it could just be a wedding... to myself. Or a cat wedding, I could get little tuxedos and veils and put them on Wiggles and Kitty-Face and have mini gay and lesbian cat weddings. Yay, social justice! Man, I can't wait for my 30s.