Thursday, November 4, 2010
Soup, Babies, and Dating for Rent
Tonight I attended my first grown up "Meeting" with the church ladies.
We had potluck soups and rolls.
I was asked for my recipe for butternut squash soup several times. (I'll have to invent one because I don't really cook by recipe; it just happens in a pot or pan and just happens to be delicious. I don't know how I do it! I think I have a sixth sense for delicious! Can I tell you a secret? This was only the second time I have ever made butternut squash soup. I'm glad everyone enjoyed it -- I was seriously thinking I'd be taking home a full crock pot of the stuff because it sort of looks like something a baby produced...)
Conversation turned to birth stories and baby hunger and epidural.
We tied quilts.
I'm pretty sure I was the only unmarried lady there.
In other news: I have a new term on my "rent" to live at home because I can't afford to live like a starving college kid anymore. I have to go on dates. I must prove that I do intend to get married some day and produce progeny for the parentals to spoil and corrupt. That means putting my social agenda in a higher priority bracket. It is currently hiding out under some dust bunnies at the back of my closet. Oh dear.
My parents think I am a loser old maid destined to clean other people's heavenly mansions because I certainly won't be qualifying for my own. What a downer! For some reason, they put me at the same level of social awkwardness as my older brother -- probably lower -- because he has at least managed to convince a member of the opposite sex to date him for an extended period of time.
I talk to people!
I engage them in meaningful and/or lighthearted conversations!
I recently became a master of how to break the touch barrier without being weird about it!
Just last week I finally figured out how flirting works! That is...I think I did. I wasn't talking to a guy or anything, in fact, I was pontificating on the matter in the recesses of my brain during down time at the clinic where I shadow doctors who do amazing things and my only job is to observe and ask questions in between patients. So. . . basically, I can't be sure if I finally figured out flirting or if the magic doctor dust got in my eyes and made me see visions of miracles. . .
The point is: the tables have turned and I'm not sure I like this view.
My older brother and I are 17 months apart. I was always just one inch and one grade in school below him. I used to pretend to be his twin so that I could do the same things he was doing. Like swimming without supervision at hotel pools. While he would insist that we were two years apart, I always pointed out that we were actually just 17 months which is seven months shy of the two full years.
Now, he is 25. The dreaded age of societal menacing. I am 23, an old maid by Provo standards, but still kickn' as a tiny tot by "the world's" view! Now, it's more convenient for him to be two years older than me. It reduces my accountability for my distinct inability to meet and notice eligible young men. Sorry big bro, but I'll throw you under the inspection of the raging parentals if it buys me a few more moments out of the spot light. Not that it saves me from awkward declarations my parents make in public...*sigh*
We will be two years apart only for the next two months. Oh man, I am not looking forward to my birthday. I might just be forced to acknowledge my lameness.
Dating, love, relationship bliss happens differently for everyone. Just like labor and delivery is never the same from one babe to the next.
The truth is:
I like soup.
I like chatting about babies ripping their way into this world.
I like quilts.
The thought of dating to appease my parents sort of makes me doubt myself in the worst way.