nursery rhymes

by rantywoman

I’m vaguely acquainted with a strikingly good-looking woman whose big schtick was that she used to be a serious drug addict and involved in terrible relationships with sketchy men. In her thirties, she married a handsome man and had a baby. Now her Facebook feed is filled with cute photos of her kid.

I bring up this story because as much as people like to shame such women, her story puts a lie to the idea that there’s a right way to do things if one wants to end up married with kids. She’s beautiful, which helps, but I have another equally-as-striking friend who, while never going without a serious, monogamous relationship in her twenties and thirties, had her last relationship go bust right before the wedding and has ended up childless and never-married.

I currently take an exercise class from a cute, perky woman in her late twenties; she could play the girl-next-door in a romantic comedy. She was just asked out on a date by a dude who works in a coffee shop; her last boyfriend was a bartender. She is giving the coffee shop guy a chance but would like to find a man with a real career. She wants to have kids but is also happy, day-to-day, spending time on her own.

What advice did I have to give her? None. Absolutely none. I know of no guaranteed route of meeting (available) men with solid careers, nor would I necessarily recommend that she grab the first one who comes along, regardless of attraction, because of the ticking clock. I wouldn’t tell her to forget the guy from the coffee shop, either, although my guess is that it won’t pan out. In many ways she seems headed down my own path, but plenty of other women who seemed the same to me at that age ended up getting married and having kids, some as late as their forties.

There seems to be little rhyme or reason to it all, despite our desire to believe otherwise.