one true love

Fabulous roommate W and I joke a lot about finding our "one true love:"
--"Let's go out tonight for felafel and coffee and people watching and meeting our one true love."
--"Do you want to watch West Wing or Muppet Show DVDs tonight?"
"Barring true love, let's watch West Wing."

It's funny and light and absurd and entertaining. We amuse ourselves. It's comforting to have a shared joke. . . but it is constant.

Yesterday, we were reading our horoscopes over breakfast. I was directed to be 'neither naive nor cynical.' W was told to 'follow your inklings. You might just "inkle" yourself into a new relationship.' So we joked about how she was going to meet her one true love. She'd call the South Korean embassy on behalf on Senator Clinton, & the clerk she would talk to would be so charmed by her professionalism that he would come to her office to seek her out. They'd see each other across the maze of cubicles and fall madly and deeply in love.

As we finished crafting this entertaining yarn, M asked why we talk so much about true love. I explained because such things entertain me, that it's fun to joke & be girly, that the whole concept is so strange & prevalent that it's in need of mocking. And he told me: you are like a the stereotypical jaded woman at the beginning of a romantic comedy.

And I was horrified. M says he didn't mean it as an insult, but I think any comparison to some Bridget Jones-esque, profoundly unhappy, scarred, all-her-happiness-dependent-on-finding-the-right-man character is terribly, terribly insulting. I do not want to be seen as anything remotely resembling that.

***

I vowed to tone down the "true love" talk, but my vow lasted about 10 hours. The City Paper, DC's weekly rag, came out yesterday. I picked one up at the library & brought it home. I came into the house & joined W & M in conversation. I idly picked up The City Paper & turned to the 'I Saw Yous.' I really enjoy reading them. It is my not-so-secret desire to be the object of an 'I Saw You.' [Yes, it's silly. Why would I want someone who lacks the social skills to approach me in real life to write a paragraph about me for an entire metropolitan area to read? Completely nonsensical.] So the conversation turned to such things, especially when there was one that was almost about me: place, time, & hair color were correct.

And so we were flipping through the personal ads musing on true love once again.