The prodding question, "so what is really..." is quickly rising in the ranks of one of the most hated questions. It has already surpassed the questions about when are you going to graduate or how's the ex...
But I should back things up just a small amount here. My father got remarried this weekend. He is now a father to six kids, all of them unmarried, ranging from 31-15. So being that I am that 31 year old, it seems only fair that I was the one bombarded with the most aggressive of questions about my life. I respect that I have opened myself to the questions as I have been posting my horror stories from my current dating site on Facebook in a combination of misery likes company/see, it is really hard.
Here in lies the issue, why is it difficult?
I am not sure.
I could blame my singleness on all the problems with the Evangelical dating gauntlet; however, in my moments of introspection I have my worries that the problems at the end remain within me. I want to blame the misogynist men - those threatened by my "calling" or just my extensive education (thanks subsidised education system) or my few apologies approach to how I have directed and conducted myself over the last few years.
It would be easier if I could find the blame in me.
If I could blame my choices, my love of high heels or reading choices...the list could go on and on and on for all the reasons from my education to my waist size, the former being a never ending problem, not made any easier by the surge in the "smokin' hot wife" dialogue in the Church, then my life would be easier.
The problem is in moments like this past Saturday it is hard to even in those moments to say well maybe it is me and have it be heard and understood, that what I am saying is not that I'm broken or that I'm a lesbian or that I as a feminist I hate men. It is not any of those, but rather the acknowledgement that may be despite my desire for there to be a simple reason, it is really complicated and thus why I'm writing these posts. It might be the covert misogyny or it might be an issue in me or it might just not be the right time.
It does not make the answer to the question any easier when your aunt leans over to ask you at dinner, with your tired looking satin bridesmaid dress on and Spanx peeking out the bottom edge, what is really, really going on. I normally oscillate between these two responses: