Adventures in lucky aisle #7.

For S, as promised, because she fields this question as often as I do.

People often ask me, "Why are you still single?"

It's a fair question. I grew up in a small midwestern town where marrying your high school sweetheart is not uncommon, and I went to a Christian college where so many people hook up senior year that we actually have a catch phrase for it: "ring by spring." I have multiple bridesmaid dresses in my closet, and I'm currently prepping for my second tour of duty as a MOH. So it's perhaps unremarkable that I've been asked this question (not infrequently) by family, by friends, by friends of the family, by complete strangers, at church, at funerals, on first dates, while crossing the street . . .

Perhaps my favorite version of this question came from an ex-boyfriend in response to a picture posted on facebook. "How is that you live in our nation's capitol and haven't landed a sugar daddy? Did you just completely stay away from men while wearing this get up?" Um . . . thanks? It's not like you put a ring on it, buddy.

So here's the honest answer:

I turn into a troll at night. It's kind of awkward. Most guys just can't handle it.

Ok, no, I don't have a serious answer for you. I do want to be clear, however, that I'm not offended by your question. Every time you ask, I find it vaguely reassuring. At least the answer isn't obvious! When you stop asking is when I'll start to worry . . .

***

Perhaps it's possible to glean some insight into this question by dissecting this series of events from my evening:

1. On my Metro ride home tonight, a (probably unstable) man in a mismatched janitor's uniform started staring at me from the back of the car, and then crept his way over to the seat in front of me. Without a book to stare at, I was defenseless. His smell preceded his sultry greeting: "Hello there, beautiful." I did my best to ignore him, so he pulled out a comb and started brushing through his greasy hair while checking out my reflection in the glass windows. When he finally made his exit a few stops later, he tapped on the glass from outside the train car and started making frantic farewell gestures to me, leaving people on the platform and my fellow passengers staring at me in confusion. He's not mine, I promise.

2. In my neighborhood, a guy out walking his dog smiled at me, and then dropped the leash so that his curious puppy could come make his introductions for him. If only he knew how ineffective slobber is on me.

3. While jogging tonight, I was passed by a group of four male bikers who each made some kind of comment about my face, my body, or the fact that I was alone. (Note to self: get a jogging partner.)

4. When I finally made it to the grocery store, I was approached by a man in the baking aisle holding a couple pots in his hand. "Do you ever feel like a complete klutz when it comes to cooking?" he asked. Well, no, I don't. Grocery shopping is one of my favorite pastimes. So, I answered him honestly. He tried again, "I mean, I don't even own a muffin tin. Who doesn't own a muffin tin?" Sorry, buddy, I have no answer for you. I have four muffin tins in three different sizes. It was at that point that I noticed that he was legitimately attractive and not at all creepy. He also looked completely dejected by the fact that I blew off his pick up line. Whoops. "Well, thanks, have a good night," he said as he made his way toward the self-checkout kiosks. "Uh, good luck!" I called to the back of his head. Fail.

***

The point:

After a while (a series of creepy encounters, a string of bad dates, a few dry months), it's easy to go on auto-pilot. The answer is no. Unhesitatingly, unequivocally, uniformly no.

But when you operate this way, you miss all of the maybes.

Chin up, eyes forward. Maybe I'll see you again someday in lucky aisle number 7 . . .