WHEN MY FRIEND GOES OFF ON A BLIND DATE
At the very least, I hope he pays for your dinner.
singleness
Hello, video!
So a couple of my friends thought it would be a great idea for me to make a parody of the infamous eHarmony cat lady video on Youtube: So I did. This may be the worst thing to ever hit the interwebs:
AFTER I SIGN UP FOR EHARMONY JUST TO “SEE WHAT’S OUT THERE”
Account deactivated.
WHY THE BAR PRINCIPLE SHOULD BE APPLIED TO OTHER VENUES WHERE THE EXCHANGE OF GOODS FOR MONEY OCCUR
(THE UNREALISTIC DEMANDS OF A MODERN SINGLE CHRISTIAN YOUNG ADULT WOMAN)
It’s late on a Saturday night, and I’m sporting an outfit inspired from someone’s Pinterest board entitled “threads and treads” when I see him in my peripheral vision and my insides suddenly begin practicing for the floor routine in the next summer Olympics in Brazil.
He approaches me, smiles, and I get a waft of scents I’m only used to smelling after walking by the Abercrombie and Fitch store at the mall. I flip my hair over my shoulder, blink my eyes in a fashion that hopefully isn’t confused as battling a rogue eyelash, and smile just enough to show interest and not desperation. He leans in and rather seductively whispers “excuse me, can I buy you a gallon of milk?”
He grabs my gallon of 1% cow juice out of my shopping cart and proceeds to scan it at the self-check out line in the grocery store. Surprisingly, he has a coupon. He looks at me, winks, and my stomach sticks the landing and I hear distant cheers in Portuguese. “So what do you say? Can I get your number?”
I never get a chance to give him my number because this never happened. Ever. To any girl who ever lived.
As the name aptly implies, the bar principle is only applicable in bars. A locale not unlike the African safari, where a guy makes his way across the smoky and loud room like a lion spotting a gazelle after three days without food. After a time of admiring his prey from afar and surveying the competition, he swoops in unexpectedly and asks to buy her a drink. Then he takes her home.
As a general rule of thumb, the lion doesn’t stalk the same prey twice.
The bar principle is also clearly a cost effective one: instead of buying her a cheesesteak with a side of French fries, he buys her something cheap. After all, a lion isn’t successful on each and every hunt.
But for the herd of Christian girls who aren’t found roaming in bars, we’re looking for more than one cheap drink and a one night stand. We’re looking for a commitment. We’re looking for a lifetime.
We’re looking for a good Christian gentleman to pay for 1/3 of the groceries in our shopping cart.
A serious pursuit of a serious relationship should begin in a bookstore when both our hands happen to reach for Crazy Love on the top shelf (he will be tall like me, obviously) and we commence witty banter about Christian literature and Twilight. He’ll ask to buy the book in my hand. I’ll say yes. We’ll get married and have 2 kids (a girl and a boy) and live in a 4 bedroom 2.5 bathroom house on a corner lot with enough of a yard for a hypoallergenic crossbreed canine.
A serious pursuit of a serious relationship should begin at a gas station that is not in New Jersey where they pump the gas for you and he comes to my rescue because the gas tank cap is stuck. He’ll tell me that my rear left tire looks like it needs more air in it. I’ll tell him he’s probably right. He’ll ask if he can pay for my tank of gas. I’ll say yes. We’ll get married and travel the world for three years developing a slight obsession with cruise lines until we decide to settle down and have 2 kids (a girl and a boy) and live in a 4 bedroom 2.5 bathroom house on a corner lot with enough of a yard for a hypoallergenic crossbreed canine.
A serious pursuit of a serious relationship should begin at a coffeeshop where I’m writing a post for my blog that nobody reads except my parents and some random person I’ve never met in Hong Kong, and it’s raining and he comes in and he’s wet because guys in America never carry umbrellas with them. He sits down at the table next to me and I offer him a napkin because that’s the best I can do and he asks if he can buy me a tall double chocolate chip frappuccino and one of those really expensive cake pops. I’ll say yes. We’ll get married and he’ll guest blog on my blog and we’ll have five total readers, his parents, my parents, and that random person I’ve never met in Hong Kong until we settle down and have 2 kids (a girl and a boy) and live in a 4 bedroom 2.5 bathroom house on a corner lot with enough of a yard for a hypoallergenic crossbreed canine.
All this gazelle is looking for is a good Christian gentleman to make his pursuit serious. Don’t give me cheap. Don’t give me once and done. Don’t ask for the bare minimum. Ask with the ultimate goal of everything—Christ centered, two-becoming-one-til-death-do-us-part everything.
But if the bar principle never has any hope of transferring to other venues where the exchange of goods for money occurs, I’ll settle for a good, Christian man making his way through a crowded grocery store to find me and he’ll lean in and rather seriously ask “excuse me, can I spend time getting to know you?” I’d be out whatever the current state minimum is for a gallon of milk, but there would still be the sound of distant cheers in Portuguese.
WHEN AN ATTRACTIVE CHRISTIAN MAN HAS A GOOD PERSONALITY, GOOD JOB, DOESN’T STILL LIVE AT HOME WITH HIS PARENTS, AND IS STILL SINGLE
My spiritual gift of discernment tells me something is amiss.
Runaway Bride
photo: smartrelationshipadvice.com
G:
I had my runaway bride dream last night. It’s been a while since I’ve had that dream. It used to be my reoccurring dream, along with the one where I’m driving down the highway and my brakes don’t work or the one where my teeth fall out and I’m screaming “but those weren’t baby teeth so I can’t even get a quarter for each!”
It’s always variations of the same dream—it’s the morning of my wedding and I don’t want to do it anymore. And I never know who the guy is. Never. Sometimes I get all the way to the front of the aisle, other times I don’t even get the dress on. And I’m filled with anxiety, a sense of dread that I’m not ready for this. It happened too fast, too soon. And who is this guy? Where is he? Why don’t I see him? The dream last night I remember looking at my phone wondering why I didn’t have a text from him saying he was excited to marry me that day. Jerk. So I told my parents who were sitting in the living room with me that I wasn’t doing it anymore and I apologized if the caterer wouldn’t be giving a refund but at least they could freeze everything and feast off it for the next 10 years.
I guess a Psychologist would say I have a latent (or blatant) fear of marrying the wrong person. I feel it is the biggest, most important decision I will ever make (aside from following You of course). We’re talking about spending the next 50-60 years with that person. Starting a whole new line of generations like you read in Genesis:
This is the account of M and [insert name of unidentified husband here] who themselves had sons and daughters four years after their travels around the world and attempting to pay off all their schools loans.
The sons and daughters of M:
Hayden, Alexandra, and Arden, Riley, and Jordan (triplets who were not planned but were “divine intervention”).
The sons and daughters of Hayden:
Nathan, Emerson, Caleb
The sons and daughters of Alexandra:
Robert, Roxanna, and Kayleigh
The one and only child of Arden who was spoiled rotten:
Edward
The sons of Riley:
Eric, Jonathan, and Brian
The sons and daughters of Jordan:
Madison and Matthew
The region in which they lived stretched out from the Upper West side of Manhattan to just left of a bison in Wyoming. These are the clans of M and [insert name of unidentified husband here], according to their lines of descent, and within their United States of America.
No offense, but you know I just begin to glaze over those genealogies after a while. They just go on and on. Just like the generations I could create. That’s a lot pressure.
But there is no right person out there for me. They are all going to be wrong.
They are all wrong because they are all imperfect. Just like me. Because we’re human.
And that’s where you come in. I do believe you have given me the chance to choose, and I can choose to follow You and let You lead me to your best (Proverbs 3: 5-6). Including a husband. Especially my husband. He won’t be perfect, but he’ll be your best for me.
So how will I know? How long will it take of dating said unidentified husband before I know? Hearing about people who met, date, and get married all within a year of meeting each other seriously makes me feel like I’m going to throw up from anxiety all over this letter.
How can I make sure I won’t be running away and leaving my parents with an industrial size freezer full of stuffed chicken?
I’m not sure. Because I haven’t been sure before. Because it hasn’t been your best for me before. I’ve always been running away. So I’ll just wait. And be patient. And have faith you’ll let me know when I’m following your best for me. When it’s time for two imperfect people to come together as one. Preferably with a proposal where the ring is snuggled amongst 8 count nuggets from Chickfila.
Your child,
m
EVERY SINGLE CHRISTIAN GIRL’S WORST NIGHTMARE
If you feed them, they will come.
HOW MY FAMILY REACTS WHEN I TELL THEM I’M CONTENT BEING SINGLE
I’ll take the lamb.
#content
WHEN I GET ALL DRESSED UP TO ATTRACT A POTENTIAL MATE
100% guaranteed to attract gentlemen you have 0% interest in.
GIF via tumblr.com
EXPECTATIONS AND REALITY OF A CHRISTIAN MID-TO-LATE 20s-30s SOMETHING GIRL: A PLAY IN 2 PARTS
Expectations of a Christian mid-to-late 20s-30s something girl:
SCENE: Underneath a cloudless blue sky sits a cozy starter home with three bedrooms and 2.5 bathrooms on a corner lot of exactly .45 acres. Meticulously clean windows are trimmed with black shutters. The white siding falls nothing short of a dazzle promised by Crest Whitening strips within 2 hours. The shrubbery is green and never in need of a haircut and not a weed (GASP, dare I say the actual word!?) is to be found. A red front door beckons you inside, where we find said mid-to-late 20s-30s something Christian girl. We will call her Chloe.
ENTER: MUFFIN, CHLOE’s hypoallergenic cross breed. Poised, full of (tasteful) spunk, and totally potty trained after watching that Youtube video only twice. She is flaunting a sequined periwinkle canine sweater.
MUFFIN
“Woof!”
CHLOE
“Did Muffin take care of her business and flush the toilet after herself?”
MUFFIN
“Woof woof!”
CHLOE
“Good girl!”
ENTER: ALYSSA and AIDEN, CHLOE’s three year old twins. Poised, full of (tasteful) spunk, and totally potty trained after watching that Youtube video only twice. They are flaunting matching his and hers periwinkle “play” outfits.
CHLOE
“What have you both learned from Baby Einstein today?”
ALYSSA
“Look Mother! I wrote you a symphony.”
ALYSSA hands her mother a 30 page symphony, spiral bound.
AIDEN
“Look Mother! I painted us a family portrait.”
AIDEN reveals a 20×30 canvas oil painting of photo-like resemblance of the four-some.
FRONT DOOR OPENS.
ENTER: Tall, dark, handsome husband (TDH). I don’t even think we need to give him a name.
ALYSSA
“Father!”
AIDEN
“Oh, Father! You’ve returned as you always do at 5:15 PM every evening Monday- Friday!”
TDH
“Wow, honey. Baby Einstein really has helped his articulation skills! That 25 disc collection sure was an investment we will never regret! Our precocious children are the talk of every parent who drops his child off in the church nursery every Sunday!”
CHLOE flips her perfectly quaffed blonde hair back over her shoulder as she kisses her husband.
CHLOE
“Jealousy!”
TDH slides a package of bacon on the table. This is to be both literal and metaphorical (and every kind of cheese in the dairy aisle).
CHLOE swings her arms around her husband’s muscular frame thanks to his $60 a month gym membership.
CHLOE
“Have I told you how much I love you?”
TDH
“Every half hour by text, telephone, or e-mail.”
CHLOE
“I’m so happy we met our freshman year at [Insert name of Christian College here] and that it was love at first sight and you showered me in flowers, jewelry, and Chickfila nuggets. And then you proposed on the beach by candlelight at sunset before the spring of our senior year. I’m also glad we didn’t wait long for our engagement (you know how temptation is!) and were married the day after our graduation. I barely passed my finals, but it was so worth it!”
TDH
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
CHLOE
“Why, how could I forget! And you paid off all of my school loans as our wedding present!”
ALYSSA and AIDEN join in the familial hug, clasping on to a parental limb. MUFFIN barks once, politely, with a stick in her mouth ready for her allotted outdoor time.
A pleasant, upbeat tune signals the closing fade-out.
FADE TO BLACK.
Reality of a Christian mid-to-late 20s-30s something girl:
SCENE: Underneath a cloudy, rainy sky sits the cheapest apartment known in the [insert name of high cost of living suburb of your choice] area. IKEA furniture fills the glorified studio to give a “cute” feel as her friends like to call it who make bank. Bundled underneath a heavy quilt because her 36% below the national average salary limits her heat usage to never, sits said mid-to-late 20s something Christian girl. We will call her M. The only light in the room is the glow from the television.
M
“DARN YOU CAGGIE! You are obviously into Spencer. Why don’t you just kiss him already?”
M throws her $4 Ikea pillow at the reality-but-obviously-scripted British show that has captivated her since she rolled out of bed at 11:00 AM on a Saturday. The show attempts to satisfy both her latent pining for love and not so latent pining for babies with British accents.
FOUR HOURS LATER. We find M in the same spot as four hours ago (no thanks to the marathon of reality-but-obviously-scripted British show), empty candy wrappers at her feet.
M
“KISS HIM CAGGIE! GOSH FREAKING DARN IT KISS HIMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Commercial break. M checks her bank account, praying that God maybe magically deposited thousands of dollars in there so she can pay off her school loans and buy some groceries every once in a while. There are only so many flavors of Ramen noodles.
THE PHONE RINGS.
M grabs her dumb phone because smart phones seem like a commodity greater than gold.
M
“Hello?”
It is M’s best friend calling to say she got engaged. M is full of merriment, glee, and [fill in other exuberant phrases here]. She then realizes she has no money to buy a bridesmaid dress.
Five minutes later.
THE PHONE RINGS.
It is M’s other best friend calling to say she got engaged. M is full of merriment, glee, and [fill in other exuberant phrases here]. She then realizes she has no money to buy another bridesmaid dress.
M happens to go onto Facebook and is informed that 17 of her other 406 Facebook friends are engaged. Six other married friends just had their first child. Three are working on their second (bow chicka wow wow).
An Inbox refresher reveals an e-mail that soon it will be her 5 year college reunion. Suddenly, she feels ill.
M
“WHERE HAS MY LIFE GONE?!”
M opens up a new Google search. She types in “How much does it cost to own a kitten?”
M remembers she does not like kittens. Backspace, backspace, backspace.
M opens up the Amazon webpage. She types in “Kitten stuffed animals” and finds 14 new from $3.56 and 6 used from $1.59.
M orders 5 new from $3.56 at a supplier that is 98% positive over the past 12 months.
A sad, bleak tune not unlike a dirge signals the close out.
FADE TO BLACK.
meghanmellinger.com 