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25 and Unwed

Youngest Spinster Around

I have come up with so many excuses over the years as to why I was never in a serious relationship. "I was coming out of a long relationship", "I was coming out of an intense love", "I do not have the time to date right now", and my favorite, "Have you seen what is out there? My okcupid, match, eharmony, and jdate are filled with homicidal freaks looking to skin me and put my skin on a blow up doll and bang me". No matter how true the excuse, it was just that.

Obviously, I know there are great guys out there. I see them getting engaged all over my Facebook. But my guy, my future husband, is currently a fantasy concocted by the NFL and Disney.  He is at least six feet tall, one gorgeous foot taller than me. Height advantaged girls  everywhere hate short girls who date tall guys, but they can reach the top shelf at grocery stores and wear maxi dresses. So no sympathy here. He must've played a collegiate sport, if he didn't then he better have graduated with honors and been in a fraternity. Is ambitious, but isn't a workaholic. I need someone that can binge watch Netflix with me on a weekend and not constantly be checking his email. Eyes on me or the tv, if the phone is out he better be ordering me dinner.

Probably most important is that he can afford to maintain my lifestyle (feminists please put away your torches for a moment. As I have previously blogged, I get sick...A LOT. I can hope that one day I will go into remission, but I am a realist so until then I am going to need some financial support. People frown upon women who live off their parents forever. Jealous bastards). He also needs to be delicious looking. I have tried dating men that were sweet and kind, but who were not the Herculean type I want to feast on and it was a big stinking failure. And finally he can not be a douchey ass nugget. I've dated them pretty exclusively and I'm too old for that shit. Saying this, all of these factors can be negated without remorse if he is a famous actor, musician, or royal.

The no-bullshit truth, the reason I am alone is simple. I am scared to bring another human being into my web of diseased chaos. I would love to spend my weekends with my future husband having picnics in the park and exploring different cities and towns. But my allergies and arthritis make those fun moments few and far between. The average weekend will be us laying on the couch watching tv with me locked in the bathroom upstairs 50% of the time. Each summer instead of sunning our hot bods on a tropical beach, we will be hanging at Hopkins. And my mom will always get the sleep chair next to me because once he has seen the disgusting liquids that come out of me, our sex life will be destroyed. There's no coming back from the things that happen in a hospital bed. He will be forced to take care of Max and use his vacation days driving back and forth to Baltimore, hopefully getting a small tan through the sunroof.

Now I know that people say that love makes you do crazy things, but spending the best years of your life stuck indoors hearing a sarcastic midget fart shouldn't be one of them. I will continue to date because I stupidly lost my virginity and enjoyed what came after the pain. Comic-Con is coming up and I will take a wealthy nerd, hopefully he will be deaf so he will never have to hear the bathroom sounds or my voice. I've been told several times I am much hotter silent. Then there is always the off chance that a single gastroenterologist with a private practice will show up at my door and swoop me off my feet. And I will always keep wishing on every eyelash and clock striking 11:11 that John Travolta will figure out I'm alive and run away with me. But until then I will stick with my story of singledom and watch as my entire graduating class weds and pops out children.


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