Lately my 3.5 year old niece has started going through the girly phase, where she rummages my room as if she were at a sample sale in NYC. She meticulously looks through my closet for hats, shoes, belts and purses, jewelry boxes for necklaces, bracelets, rings, and the dresser for head bands and makeup. Then she proceeds to put all of it on… at once. But that’s just the beginning. She then walks around the house as if the kitchen and living room were her own private runway. In a way, she almost looks like a younger, cuter, untainted (dare I say, virgin) version of Madonna from the 80’s. Well, the reason why I bring this is up is because I was looking for my chapstick, which I knew went missing after my niece’s latest fashion show. I emptied out all of the purses she stuffs with my stuff, and looked in all her hiding spots but to no avail. For a moment, I even grew frustrated and thought, “Geez, why is she in such a rush to play grown up, anyway?” And then it hit me, as it usually does in times of mild frustration: was I guilty of the same thing? Perhaps. Ok, make that definitely.
Lately I’ve begun questioning my marital status – not as to what it is (because that is abundantly clear), but as to how I can quickly change it. It wasn’t my Mom’s nagging that prompted this pursuit of a ‘plus one,’ rather, it was that subliminal group of people we refer to as our peers. In the age of Facebook when declaring your love via the ‘relationship status’ field is the epitome of all-things-official, I’m reminded with each update, photo, and newsfeed that there’s someone missing in my life. Now don’t get me wrong – I’m not saying I want to be in a relationship for the sake of “keeping up with the Jonese” (or is it the Kardashians, now?). Nor do I want it for the mere sake of wearing a diamond on my finger, ensuring plans for Valentine’s Day, or even professing my love to my nearest and dearest 493 “friends” on Facebook.
No, what I really want is to be able to come home and curl up on the couch with a book (or a remote, or a glass of wine), and share the peaks and pits of my day with “him” as we debate over pizza delivery or Chinese takeout. Now I realize that lately my blog has turned into somewhat of an extended uncut version of a personals ad, but that’s the thing about me, you see… when I become fixated on something, I tend to talk about the topic A LOT (remember Cosmopolitan?). Unlike my niece, this isn’t a phase I’m going through where today I’m “Team Married With Children” and tomorrow I’ll be rooting for “Team Living Single.”
Call it what you will – the biological clock, peer pressure, or the fear of dying an old maid with ten cats – but I’ve reached a point in my life where a committed relationship feels like natural progression rather than an item on my bucket list. I know what many of you must be thinking: “you can’t look for it because it will happen when you least expect it.” Yes, I’ve heard that and countless other clichés but like most things in life, if you want something to happen, you usually have to work at it. If you were unemployed, you wouldn’t sit idly in the hopes of a job magically landing in your lap. If you were looking for an apartment, you wouldn’t patiently wait to get evicted or a realtor to come knocking on your door. So is my situation any different? My heart has a vacancy and I’m looking for applicants (serious inquiries only).
I know one day I’ll look back and laugh at all this, but you never quite realize how silly you look until you get older. Now, if only Aunt Avani could knock some sense into Single Avani.
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