Look, I don’t mean to complain… but I’m turning 30 in a few weeks and I still haven’t met my cowboy. I’ve never been more baffled by something in my entire life. How do people do it? How do they find their soul-mate amidst all the frogs and freaks out there?
I have dated my fair share of men. They have been fun and interesting, all of them. A few I thought may have even been more than fun. But nothing has even come close to materializing. When people meet me now, they assume I am married and are shocked as hell when they find out I’m not. Its a compliment, I suppose, that they wouldn’t think one person can do what I’ve done (and plan to do), but every time I have that conversation, I cringe.
THEM: So what does your husband do?
ME: I’m not married.
THEM: You’re not married?!
ME: Nope.
THEM: That really surprises me! You’re so nice and you have this great farm. Don’t you want kids? Have you been divorced? Are you covered in scales?
ME: It just hasn’t worked out that way. Would you like to go out and collect some eggs?
THEM: So you do all this by yourself.
ME: Yep. Let’s talk about something else.
THEM: You know, I have this friend who knows this lady who works at the bank who might be able to set you up with her brother-in-law’s cousin. He just got out of jail, and I think he may have a drug problem, but he’s the only single guy your age I know of. Interested?
ME: [pause] Sure. Can he drive a tractor?
Maybe a slight exaggeration, but it is starting to look a little bleak. Fewer prospects out here in the country. Not that thousands of guys were beating down my door to begin with. And the guys I do meet aren’t exactly Art Farm material, you know? Between the potheads, the rednecks, the man-whores and the truly desperate I remain nonplussed.
The beauty of turning 30 is the inner-peace that comes with some of this life-lesson crap. I used to get pretty freaked out about the being single thang. But now I figure its been this long on my own, I may as well hold out for someone who is really right. Someone who can get excited about rebuilding the barn, or heading into town for the annual pancake feed. Maybe someone who would actually adore me for all the hard work I do, instead feel threatened by it. This man, my cowboy, will come someday. And I’ll know him when I see him. Until then, I guess I’ll just get better at changing the subject!
Art Farm Oregon 