A funny thing happened on the way to thirty-something land, turning 29. In lands far from where Spring meets LaFayette, being single & twenty-nine has always equated spinsterhood. That delicate condition where prince charming had not yet arrived in a white horse with a rent controlled walk up on the Upper East Side.
However, living in Manhattan, where being single is revered, life was changing too. Out were the Carrie Bradshaw(s) & Samantha Jones(s) of the world. In were the new faces of thirty-something New York. From high above Uptown to the Lower East Side, couples & baby carriages were taking over the once gritty and dangerous sidewalks. Was the city turning into a sleepy suburb without the track homes?
I pondered this question. While at the social event of the season, a spring outdoor party in TriBeCa, a new fashion accessory dominated the sea of Prada purses, the wedding ring. Nearly everyone was gorgeous, successful and yes, very married. Oh no, did I miss something (in mid-twenties land), while drinking too much wine & figuring out how to stuff a whole week’s groceries in one paper bag? While I still pondering the deep philosophical and very first world question, Mr. Ideal arrived.
Certainly, he was straight & married, but mirrored JFK Jr. perfectly. He simply charmed me, while I wondered if he had a gay brother. If I could wake up to such a handsome man, surely married life couldn’t be that bad.
Then as we smiled at each other, it hit me. I would have to share a bed, checking account & that secret stash of jellybeans I keep hidden. Could I deal with farting in bed? Even worse, having to watch endless hours of football?
I walked out of the event thinking, “I really am the gay New York version of Bridget Jones.” Like Bridget, I was officially in spinsterhood mode and enjoyed eating too much. Unlike Bridget, I didn’t have two men fighting over me toward the end of the movie (or in my case, the Thursday night get together).
As I walked home feeling single and ready to turn thirty, I looked around. “Oh my this is my life!” I am a New Yorker, working in my dream field & have funny and very interesting people around me. Then I thought, who needs a man to be happy?
While Tribeca faded into Chinatown, something unexpected happen. I was almost hit by a bike while crossing a (surprise) bike lane. As I was about to tell the guy ” Hey you fucking almost killed me,” I looked up. There he was blue eyed and smiling. My frown turned into a smile & I walked away. Only in New York, would, you almost get hit by a bicycle with the possibility of meeting Mr. Right at the same time.