Friday, December 12, 2014

I've heard way too much tsk-ing in my last few days.

It's not proper for a young lady to live on her own in an apartment, you know.

I know my grandmother, and my mother, and my aunt are all disappointed with where I am in my life right now. I am too. I'm 29 years old and I'm not living in a big house with a white picket fence, a nice husband, and kids. And a dog. I want a dog.

I'm an outlier among the women in my family. My mother, grandmother, and aunt all got engaged during college and dropped out to get married. They all married wealthy men and had kids by the time they were twenty-three.

The closest I've ever gotten to having a kid was my ex-boyfriend Ted's dog. Ted and I lived together for four and a half years. I thought we would get married, but as usual I was wrong. The dog is the only thing I miss about that relationship now. He was a mutt, and he was great. But I had to leave him behind with his scumbag owner, unfortunately.

After I left, I couldn't find an apartment that would allow dogs. The only place I can afford right now is a tiny unit in Dreamwood Terrace, which is where I'm currently unpacking. One bedroom, one bathroom, and one combined living room/kitchen/dining room. The apartment still feels like it's filled with the sounds of disapproval coming from my family members as they came over to see my new place.

The only thing on my dingy white walls is my degree in Husband Hunting. Just kidding! I wouldn't have gotten a degree in Husband Hunting. I obviously failed at it. It's a B.A. in French Literature from the University of Virginia. I didn't think I would need a job when I picked my major, honestly. So now I'm a waitress.

This is not the way I thought my life would go.

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