The ONE
It seems like everyONE finds the
ONE at the same time. So when is it my turn to find the ONE with everyONE else?
What if there is no ONE? No ONE person for me, literally no ONE to be my ONE.
EveryONE and their ONE are out looking at engagement rings and picking out
colors. If not this, then merely delighting in being with the ONE they love.
People who said they never cared about finding the ONE, much less marrying the
ONE if he/she could be found are tasting cakes and sending me gushing text messages
about bridesmaid dresses. Even those ONES who stick to their scruples and are
opting for the increasingly traditional, non-legally binding commitment of
living together forever have found the ONE and are sure that no ONE will ever
separate them from their ONE. The ONE person they are supposed to spend forever
with.
How is it that I feel like an old
maid at twenty-two?
ONE friend who recently found the
ONE told me that I should request the ONE from the universe, as if I am in a
restaurant and the universe is the short order cook. “Hello. I’d like ONE vegan
with blue eyes and a dazzling smile, extra brains, hold the immaturity, with a
side of commitment please.” Yeah right. I’ve tried it. I’ve lain there at night
in bed and said, “Please. I am ready to find the ONE. You know what I want.
Please send him now.” When the ONE did not magically arrive, I lamented to the
friend. The friend insisted that I was not being specific enough.
Patty Stanger is the Millionaire
Matchmaker. She insists that she has an eye for the right chemistry and is an
expert at helping people find the ONE. She gives advice to her clients telling
them to make a list of five non-negotiables. Alright Patty, you’re on.
- Brains.
I am a snob. I admit it. I want the ONE to have brains out the
you-know-what. The ONE would be college-educated in both something that
makes a lot of money and something that interests me. The ONE would be an
engineer who makes piles of cash by day, but who has his masters in art as
well. The ONE would have the cash to fly me to the Lourve and then be able
to wax poetic about all the Italian Renaissance paintings in the place.
- Babies.
I hate babies. I hate what babies turn into (toddlers). I hate the idea of
pushing a baby out of my body. I hate the idea of what a baby would do to
my body. Not every woman needs or wants to pop a baby out every two years.
The ONE would understand this. And when or if my biological clock did kick
in, the ONE would change a diaper.
- Sex.
The sex has to be good. EveryONE tells you that sex is not the most
important thing, that sex can always get better, that you can work on your
sexual relationship as a couple. Not true. If the sex sucks from day ONE,
nothing will save the relationship. The ONE would do it right. (He would
also make me a snack afterwards.)
- Looks.
In order to have good sex, the ONE would have to look good. The two are
not mutually exclusive. The ONE would not have to possess bulging muscles
and movie star looks, but he would have to meet certain standards. The ONE
is never fat. When you are a little girl, dreaming of your wedding, the
ONE walking down the aisle does not have a beer gut, nor does the ONE have
a receding hairline, nor does the ONE have a face that startles (other
people’s) babies. The ONE cannot be unattractive.
- Commitment.
The ONE better be able to make a goddamned commitment. I do not want any
wishy-washy dithering from the ONE about how he feels. After six or so
dates, the ONE and I would become monogamous. After a year, the ONE would
ask me to move in. After a year and a half, the ONE would propose. After
two and a half years, the ONE would meet me at the end of the aisle for a
wedding with all the trimmings.
I have done the math. If I meet
the ONE tomorrow, I will be married just before my twenty-sixth birthday. The
ONE had better get his ass in gear.
All kidding aside, I am so so so happy for my friends who are getting married and I wish them nothing but happiness, beauty, and wonderful, love-filled lives and marriages.
