Because I'm a little too close to the subject matter to be an impartial judge. You see, I am the subject matter.
I don't know if you remember, but a few months back I mentioned a story about a family that goes to Q's school that just broke my heart. The family had been on a road trip, had a terrible accident where horribly, the mother passed away, leaving two small daughters and a husband behind. I almost cried when I saw the father in crutches *walk* the two children to school, each in their own wheelchair, after a month or so in the hospital. It was such a stark reminder of how horrible things could happen in the blink of an eye.
As the months passed, I thought often of the girls and how they were faring in the aftermath of probably the most horrid thing ever to happen to anyone. I cannot even imagine losing my mom at all, let alone at such an early age in such an awful way. How were they healing without their mother? Was someone there to take care of them? How was their father? How was he dealing with raising two little girls without the love of his life? The mother of his children?
And then I got to thinking what would it be like to date a widower? How would it be different from dating a divorcee or someone who's never been married? How would it be to become the step mother of two little girls who had lost their mother? I wonder...
I know, so many questions!!
Here's the thing...I thought about him and them so much that when I saw him at the school yesterday, I expected him to recognize me. I would daydream about him. I saw him, I smiled and he looked straight through me to his daughter. Well, of course he did. He doesn't know me from a hole in the ground. In his world, I don't even exist. It was embarrassing. Thankfully no one saw. Thankfully, I didn't wave and call him darling. I mean, seriously, what am I? How so very *ambulance-chaser* of me. I feel so guilty for even considering it.
My heart has been broken (numerous times over) by men who don't even really know who I am, or know me only to say hello and then carry on with their day. My imagination sees a man, and creates a story - a love story - around them and me. It's epic. It's fabulous. It's a fairy tale. It's my imagination. I've begun to think that no real story will ever be good enough for me because I've created so many ridiculous ones in my head.
A few angry uterus days ago, I ran into three male colleagues who were trying to figure out why I was in such a bad mood (duh...) and one said, "Oh, I think she's worried about finding a date for her brother's wedding!" They all started laughing and I just couldn't deal with the smug boy's club any longer, so I said, "Gentlemen, until I find a man who can offer me more than I can give myself, I am quite content to be single, thank you very much." I know, right? One of those things that just comes out of your mouth and after you're all like, "Wow. That totally rocked!!!" Anyways, one of them replied, "Sweetheart, you'll never find one like that." And they ALL laughed!!!
Are you kidding me?
I've heard it said that the worst thing that the Women's Liberation movement did for society was allow men to remain boys. Why must a man provide for his family when his wife is perfectly capable of doing so? Why must he get off his ass to pay the bills, cut the grass, take out the garbage when he has a woman who does it? There is no incentive for men to step up. Women, we've essentially won nothing. Men are sitting on the couch, playing video games completely oblivious to the war and we're still fighting. So, while I might be crazy, I'd prefer to live in my imagination, where men save women, boys grow up to be gentlemen, and women get to be ladies.