Quest for Love
Recently, it occurred to me that maybe I’m not running into Mr. Right because Mr. Right doesn’t shop for lipstick at Sephora or hang out on my couch watching The Bachelorette. I need to figure out where he spends his time.
“Spring is coming and it’s like a mass explosion of men chasing after me,” my 70-year-old mother cried me a river over the phone recently. On the other end of the line I rolled my eyes and flipped through my own datebook, blank page after blank page.
She was the kind of woman who butchered her own meat, baked her own bread and could tell north from south, no matter where she was. During her 94 years, she raised seven children, withstood illness and poverty, and by steadfast example taught me to be true to myself at all costs, especially when it hurt.
When staring down the season alone for the first time, the holidays don’t glitter; they loom.
I looked up the word “solo” today on Thesaurus.com, not because I’m obsessed with my singlehood, but because I was searching for a column title about my solo law practice for a legal newsletter. The results, nonetheless, beg to be shared with all of singlekind.
Today’s grocery list:
1. ingredients for s’mores
2. the latest People
3. a bag of those sweet little clementines (no seeds, please)
4. a man to call my own.
Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t fantasized about bumping into Mr. Right at your neighborhood grocery over a stack of pomegranates. While I’ve not yet found love in the grocery aisles, I’m convinced this is an efficient method of combining errands, so I’ve been polishing my man-shopping skills. Here’s what I’ve learned so far: