Lately, I’ve found myself toying with the idea of giving up on marriage and fully embracing my singleness.
Yea, I know what you’re thinking. At nearly sixty years of age, it’s about time I gave up on the dream of meeting my handsome prince or “my soul mate.” But some dreams need to die a horrible gruesome death — with torture thrown in — before we can let go of them. Such is the case with the ‘wedded bliss’ dream.
You know the one that goes like this, you meet handsome prince on a blind date fall madly in love over dinner and are married three weeks later in a big church wedding. And the two of you spend the rest of your lives together. He never cheats on you. He is never without a job. You buy a two story house — complete with white picket fence, raise two point three kids, have a collie named Lassie, and all the kids grow up to be doctors.
And speaking of the dream, its holiday time in America and the dream rises to its full zenith is thrown at us full force by Wall Street Advertisers. The TV tells us how happy and satisfied we’ll be surrounded by family, friends, and a table laden down with delicious, exciting, and expensive food. Kids running around squirting and/or splashing each other with or in the latest toy dressed in the most fabulous fun summer wear on a thick green luscious — manicured to perfection — lawn. And a handsome dark haired six foot hunk of a husband — pumped up on Viagra — manning the grill.
But at sixty, the cold hard reality of it is that I’d most likely have to deal with an ex-wive(s) (or worse yet the idolized dead wife) hateful grown children and wicked little step-grand kids that I’d end up having to baby sit during the holiday. And my hunk of a husband would come shuffling in on a walker and in order to get it up, would have to own stock in Viagra.
So, by process of slow reasoning, and a host of failed celebrity marriages, I’m coming to the decision to let go of “The Wedded Bliss Dream” and see where the tried and true single lane takes me.
Instead of longing for the wedded bliss life, this fourth of July you’ll find me indulging in a Will Smith movie marathon – Independence Day, I Robot, and I am Legend – while sucking down slow oven cooked (not grilled) tender to perfection country style ribs, a pint of Jerry Garcia ice cream, and a fifth of blue Agave Tequila. Hooray for the red, white, and blue!