Onely Commits Two Singlisms in One Day March 26, 2009Posted by Onely in As If!, Bad Onely Activities, Everyday Happenings.
Tags: chips and dip, single homeowner, single hostess, singlism, trader joe's
OH NO! Onely committed singlism twice in one day!
The first time was in Trader Joe’s:
“My writing group’s coming to my house for the first time tomorrow, so I’m shopping for really great snacks,” I told one of the staff with whom I’m pretty friendly. “I’m nervous because they all have these big, clean, decorated houses and I have. . . well, not to stereotype,” (and so you know I’m going to go ahead and stereotype) “but I live in a single girl townhome.”
“Ah,” said my friend, “So you’re looking for foods to stuff their faces with to distract them.” Yes, yes, I was. But worse, I felt I’d betrayed my beloved townhouse by implying that it wasn’t big, or clean, or decorated–none of which are true.
I have an entire finished basement I barely use, I wash my dishes every day (and vacuum every spring whether it needs it or not), and I like my decor–a hodgepodge of clocks, furniture, and rugs my parents accumulated during their travels, plus my own mamasan chair and wall-to-ceiling tiger painting, a piano, my dolls of the world shelf, an oil portrait of my sailboat done by my sister. My house is, as my friend Jon says, perfect for me. So why did I slip into singlism for a second there?
I blame those inane babbles about single-person housing on the fact that I was anxious about not being equipped to hostess. I never have ice cubes in the freezer (sensitive teeth), and I barely have enough matching chairs for a Euchre game, because I usually eat sitting crosslegged on the floor–or in my massage chair with my feet up (oh yeah, the single life is tough). I was nervous because I don’t know what normal people snack on. You see, being single just feeds into (heh) my already wierd eating habits. I dip apples in hummous, make peanut-butter-and-cheese sandwiches (this does wonders for my figure), warm up cucumber sticks in the microwave, and create stirfries based on whichever vegetables are going soft fastest in my fridge. I will dip any raw vegetable or any crackery-tostitoish-mazzobready-wafer thing into any sort of saucy creamy dippy substance, as long as the sauce isn’t eggwhite-based.
But as I stood there in Trader Joe’s looking at the Flax Seed Chips and the Tasty Little Crackers, and the guacamole and salsa, I heard little voices from long-ago parties saying, “Oh my god, you’re dipping a potato chip in the salsa? Don’t you know you’re supposed to use the Tostito with the salsa?” and “Hey everyone check this out, Christina’s eating a carrot stick with peanut butter!”
I froze in the aisle, panicked. Flipping through my mental recipe box, I couldn’t distinguish between Normal Snacks and Snacks of Christinaland.
I ended up with: A box of crackers; Cheese, because I think that’s what normal people eat with crackers; A bag of what look to me like normal-eater dipping chips; Guacamole and hummous, because I think this is what normal people put on normal chips (but separately, not in combination like I do); Two bottles of sparkling blueberry juice; Dark chocolate covered blueberries; Raw veggies; A Baklava dessert plate. I spent way too much money, but I wanted to cover all my bases. I hid my jar of sucked nuts at the back of the cupboard.
I was still fretting about the snacks later that day, when I went to pick up my mail. I ran into my neighbor and committed my second random act of singlism in one day:
“I was just at the store buying snacks for my writing group, because they’re coming to my house for the first time tomorrow, and I’m nervous,” I said to him. “Now don’t get me wrong, I love my house.” I gestured toward my lovely little end unit with the green shutters, “But they are all married with kids and have these big, fancy, grown-up houses. . .”
First, let me defend myself by saying I didn’t mean to imply that single people living alone in townhouses are somehow less grown-up than married couples in single-family homes. In fact, I think that a lot of those homes are monstrous and oversized, and way too many chemicals go into keeping them cleaned and maintained, and way too much double-income money gets routed into our consumer economy in order to furnish those places with characterless furniture from soul-sucking chains like Ikea and Bed, Bath, & Beyond. I think I was using “grown-up” in the way that children sometimes use it, to mean conformist and unimaginative. But I didn’t mean to trash my writing group peeps that way, either, because since when are writers conformist and unimaginative?
Copious Readers, why do you think I was such a dink? And have you ever committed Random Acts of Singlism?