"Leftover Woman"

Published by Still Life in the blog Still Life's blog. Views: 158

JH looked gawky and awkward in his regular clothes. His joints were all over the place. I am so used to him in a suit that this other vision of him, hawkish and birdlike and hopping around the edges of my peripheral, left me shell-shocked.

We were standing around the barbecue grill, so I took advantage of the smoke and rubbed my eyes, hoping to smudge away whatever it was that had momentarily clouded my vision, but when I looked up again, there it was, unchanged!

My sister thinks this is good news. She squeezed my hand in hers and said, "In order to forget a guy who likes your friend, you have to keep finding things that annoy you about him."

My mother is worried.
"You twenty-five already," she said.
"Nobody you like?"
"Don't tell me you gay?"
"Oh, my god!"
"Well, then what?"
"Okay, okay, look, let's just say nobody wants to marry me, and leave it at that, okay? Nobody wants me, okay? I'm never getting married, okay?"
I left her wringing her hands, muttering, "Leftover woman, leftover woman," under her breath.

My friends (who are all in love with him) are satisfied. Being the older female, I am designated "safe". They don't worry when he hovers around me because I'm older and therefore undesirable.

I guess I should just accept my fate: Become an old woman who has to nitpick at younger guys just so she won't fall in love with them.
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