MaryB and the City

2n CO2 + 2n H2O + photons.

In the very short time I’ve been back in touch with the male species, who I affectionately refer to as plants, they have already managed to surprise me [and irritate me] in only the special, scientific way they know how.

On the upside, I’m pleasantly pleased to observe they’re taking more to me as a brunette. I could have *swore* they were bonkers for blondes. Even research studies show that they default to goldie locks whether they realize it or not. But low & behold, what do ya know? They’re down with the brown.

What cracks me up is how many faces I recognize from my past stints on the Match who didn’t reach out then, but are lining up in my inbox now. Although regularly painting my hair is a quirk of mine and I do it as a creative outlet, have to admit — it is nice to be fancied in my natural state of darker roots.

On the downside, I’ve quickly been reminded of how absent-minded they can be sometimes. For instance, asking me why I’m “still single” is silly. It is right up there when people exclaim, “How far along are you?” to a girl who isn’t even pregnant. So she’s had a few Dunkin Donut runs lately and hasn’t made a gym appearance in a few months…that doesn’t mean her muffin top classifies as being a first trimester mama in the making. You have to be a special kind of dumb to mess that one up.

I am confident enough to say that yes, my stats make me a catch on paper, and I also happen to be of marrying age, yet still check the single box. But what do they honestly think I’ll respond with…because I’m not wife material? Because I sniff paint? Because I can’t cook microwavable Kraft mac & cheese? Even if those asinine excuses were true, do they believe a gal would actually tell them that? Drrr.

Or do they want the truth — that I dated someone for the better part of the last decade who didn’t want to commit past courting? That the men I’ve met over the last year were missing significant characteristics that I need in a lifetime partner? That this complex city makes it remarkably difficult to meet people? That 98% of my friends are married and/or in a relationship on the brink of getting engaged and they know no eligible prospects to set me up with? That it clearly was my destiny to remain legally uncommitted until Beyonce released her Single Ladies song so that I could authentically shake my rump to its maximum potential?

If men are plants, women are rays of sunlight, soil with nutrition, oxygen for energy and water for nourishment. Now — if I can just crack the damn photosynthesis code, maybe there is hope to generate a few mini-me’s.