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pvtdancer

Now I am older...

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I am rather disinclined to get hitched again. This little revelation has caused the well-meaning fans-of-the-free-chicken-dinner to emit horrified gasps, and when theyíve finished performing dramatic intakes of air and foppish swoons, they all trot out one predictable question Ė ďArenít you afraid of ending up alone?Ē. The answer I give them is a heart-felt no. A wedding ring is no more guarantee against loneliness than a marshmallow is.
It seems to me that the majority of people out there spend most of their lives in the pursuit of marriage, in the mistaken belief that this will guarantee them lifelong happiness, companionship and loyalty. All so they donít have to worry about being lonely as they sit throwing another cat on the fire and chewing Wertherís Originals with each otherís false teeth on a cold dark evening in their winter years. Well, I happen to believe, that little band of gold holds no mystical powers and guarantees you not one thing.
There are those of you who are deeply happy in your choice of spouse and Iím very glad to know it, but your commitment, dedication and on-going love for each other have absolutely nothing to do with the piece of paper on which you both scribbled in front of the vicar and even less to do with little round bits of finger jewellery. At any point since you tied your imaginary knot, one or both of you could have gone out for a pint of milk and never returned (unless youíre vegan, in which case, a pint of celery) but you didnít, you chose to be together and you choose it still. Every day that you wake up and do what you can to make your relationship work, youíre saying ďI doĒ all over again and you donít need a ring for that, you need only the continuing desire to be together and a huge amount of compatibility, or wine. Your choice.
So, while I think itís great if you find someone you want to spend the rest of your/their life choosing not to go out and buy milk every day with, I donít think I want to put all my eggs in that one proverbial basket (again, unless youíre vegan in which case itís a proverbial basket of tofu) and take the risk that I may or may not find someone who may or may not love me forever and who may or may not die before me (most likely before me Ė Iím going to live for a reeeally long time as my internal organs have been painstakingly preserved in wine). Instead, I have found a much safer plan, one that involves no wedding rings and that guarantees me a number of people who will choose to be there for me when Iím old enough to enjoy queuing at the Post Office, who will still love me when I fart in public without knowing it (ok, that oneís pretty much current) and who will help me retrieve my dentures after I attempt to wolf-whistle inappropriately at the 20-something bus conductor Ė I like to call them friends.
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