Nora Ephron, You Were Right About Me
By SingleMomtism on September 23, 2013
Co-Worker: Do you know that it's easier to be killed by a terrorist than it is to find a husband over the age of forty?
Annie: That statistic is not true.
Becky: That's right, it's not true. But it feels true.
~ From Sleepless In Seattle
I'm knee-deep in my divorce mediation, and things are moving forward and getting resolved. One of the things that I keep getting reminded of as I slog through all this financial and custodial stuff is that I'm all alone in this.
He's moved on already. Hell, he didn't even bother to end our marriage before he moved on, I had to do that. And she ended her marriage and they bought a big five bedroom house on an acre of land where they play happy family every other weekend with our kids.
That sounds bitter.
I'm not bitter, honest. Not about that anymore, anyway. I kind of like that the kids have a family unit "over there", and from the sounds of it, they're getting fed and taken on outings and they laugh and go on vacations and life is fine over there. That's exactly what I want for my kids, in the long run. And he's been moved out over three years now. They're a fact of life, and not a very interesting one anymore.
But enough about them. This is about me. Good old me.
Good old me.
And the fact that statistically, I'm not entirely likely to ever get married again. Or maybe even find love.
Hell, I'll be lucky if I get laid ever again. Let's be honest, here.
I'm forty-eight years old, I have two young kids, and one of them is a child with autism. My odds aren't stellar.
Let's eliminate half the men in my dating pool automatically, and that's probably nowhere near the percentage I need to shave off. Half of those men will be looking to date younger, firmer girls without those encumbering kids.
Then we'll eliminate another 15% for my own preferences. I won't date smokers, bigots, zealots, men with poor hygiene and men who can't seem to hold a steady job and always work for "assholes" that keep firing them.
That leaves us with a 35% pool of men around my age and I have to hope they don't mind falling for a woman with a kid who may be living with her for the rest of his life. I have to hope they don't mind falling for a woman who makes part of her living telling her life story online. I have to hope they can fall for a woman who doesn't know what the hell she wants in a man other than "not too much like my ex."
I have to hope they can fall for a woman who's too afraid to fall herself, probably.
And if I ever want to find even that small percentage, I have to do more than hope. I have to be accessible. Flirt. Meet people. Create an online profile. Engage. Network.
I'm terrified to try. Good old me is just too damn tired to try and keeps reminding me that it's probably useless, anyway.
I just wish I could squelch the part of my heart that watches all those stupid romantic comedies on my kid-free weekends. I wish I could erase the memory of what it feels like to sit next to someone on the couch and know your head is welcome on that shoulder. I wish I could grab a screwdriver and carve out the chunk of brain that stores the memory of what it's like to wake up to the sound of rain against the window and reach for someone in the night, and have your sounds mix with the thunder and see glimpses of their face and body parts when the lightening illuminates the room.
Annie: Now that was when people KNEW how to be in love. They knew it! Time, distance... nothing could separate them because they knew. It was right. It was real. It was...
Becky: A movie! That's your problem! You don't want to be in love. You want to be in love in a movie.
~ From Sleepless in Seattle
Nora Ephron was right. I want to be in love in a movie.
Right now, though, I'd even settle for a ninety second trailer.
That's if I could talk myself into buying a ticket to that movie in the first place.
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