The other night, I had one of those scary single woman evenings. I was wearing the most unattractive outfit I own, big baggy workout pants that I stole from an Ex-Boyfriend and a Red Sox t-shirt. No make-up, hair in a pony tail. I was completely comfortable. It wasn’t that I was depressed or upset; I just wanted to be in my own skin for awhile.
Instead of baking a cake like I had planned, I grabbed a spoon out of the drawer, opened the can of frosting, and ate it straight out of the can. I wasted the evening doing absolutely nothing of importance. I didn’t want to blog, I didn’t want to Facebook, or watch a movie or read. I just wanted to enjoy the silence. I just wanted to allow thought to flow through me and around me without direction. I didn’t ponder, I didn’t find something funny, I just laid on my bed and allowed myself to exist without the pressure of purpose. It was amazing. I loved every minute of it.
How would this kind of night work in a relationship? At some point you would want to talk to me, interrupting my nothingness of thought. At some point you would question if that entire can of frosting was gonna make me fat. You would hate how those pants make my butt look and you’d probably try to tell me the Red Sox suck. Wouldn’t you? Something about that kind of evening would annoy the crap out of you. I wish I could say that kind of night rarely happens, but they do happen and I need them.
I am not sure what I accomplish in those evenings. On the surface it is a complete lack of ambition, self-control, and presence. How could anything come from that? I have no idea. What I do know is that it’s better than a Spa day. I feel rejuvenated and renewed. The next day I get back to tackling the world, helping others and looking fabulous.
Am I capable of marriage? Am I capable of giving up something like that night, just because it makes you uncomfortable, or because you think less of me because of it? How do I tame myself enough to make my world palatable to you? Would you ask me to? What is it about you that I am going to hate? These are the worries that flood in whenever I consider the thought of Happily Ever After.