That's right, folks. While I may spend hours at a time puzzling over the mystery that is singlehood, I never waste a minute wondering how middle-aged women feel about me. No, not one minute.
Because I know.
I know because, in the middle of serious work meetings, as we deal with the complexities of educating children with severe disablities, one co-worker will turn to the other and say, "You know, there's this nice young man at my church. I don't know why he's not married..." and then they will all look at me expectantly.
Or I will go to the district administrative office, with the understood purpose of turning in paperwork, only to be informed that the new psychologist is cute, and they'll call the next time he's in.
Or I find myself sipping wine and watching NASCAR (?!!) on some random Friday night (okay, last Friday night), because a dinner party has been thrown for the express purpose of introducing me to "such a nice young man who works for my husband."
Don't get me wrong--I'm certainly not complaining. I mean, it's a good sign, right? Right?
Besides, it's developed a sort of aplomb that serves me well in other settings. . Take for instance my flight home from Texas. I sat next to this lovely, older couple. We conversed about Tacoma, faith, family, all sorts of things. As we leave, a friend of theirs from the next row asked the lady if she'd been interviewing a future daughter-in-law. She smiled a bit sheepishly and admitted the thought had crossed her mind. But do I blush? Do I stammer and flee? No, not this veteran. I just smile and say, "Don't worry. My co-workers do it all the time."
