I know there’s a few people who read this thing, and if you’re one of them, I’m warning you now, I’m feeling a tad reflective, and shit could get deep here. You should walk away if you think you can’t handle it. I’ll wait.
Are they gone yet?
Thank God, I thought those people would never leave.
Anyway, as I was saying… Well, brave Paula In The Country readers who are still here, the truth is… I got dumped this week. I know it’s hard to believe. I mean, I’m practically the perfect woman. I drink, I swear, I just ate a piece of popcorn off the floor… Who doesn’t want a piece of that? But it happened. Out of the blue, too. One day it was ‘I miss you.’, and the next day it was ‘You’re a great girl, but see ya.’, which, honestly, makes me feel like I have a small idea of what it’s like to get kicked hard in the nuts now.
When things like this happen, it’s very easy to feel sorry for myself. I mean, I’m 38 years old now. Never married. I’ve had very few serious relationships. That shit can start to wear on any girl’s fragile ego. I also want a family. And let me tell ya, dating at my age is not easy. Assuming I can find a man that can actually form sentences, he either, a) Is newly on the dating scene and not ready to ‘settle’ for me, b) Has kids and doesn’t want any more, or c) Lives in a different state. All of which are not ideal for poor little Paula In The Country. But, just when I think I’m about to fall into a pit of self-pity, I remember something…
My big brother has cancer.
And I’m worried about finding a boyfriend.
Which leads me to my point, that everything is about perspective. Does it suck I’m 38 and freshly dumped? Meh. Not really. Because I’m healthy. I have a truly amazing life. I was raised in a great home with great parents who somehow instilled morals and values and kindness towards others in me, who gave me the gift of humor, and three older brothers who taught me about slasher films, and how to drink men under the table. I’m sitting here in fluffy jammies, drinking an extra-dirty martini, with a tiny Ewok dog staring at me adoringly. I have kettle corn. All of these things make me an extremely lucky girl. And maybe, when all is said and done, my goal should not be to find a man so I can start a family and a life, but rather to enjoy the road I’m taking to get there.
The long, long, long, long, long fucking road to get there.
Cheers, everyone who read this entire thing.
*Stabs self in eye with falling three olive-laden toothpick*
(Side note: Shameless plug here for my bro’s cancer fund! In case you have any spare couch change or anything. Just lick the Cheeto dust off first.)