Charming, but single

Last night, I had a very unsettling dream.

I was dating The Nurse. You know. Like a normal person. Like he’d never not called and never gotten some woman who is not half as cool as I am pregnant. Had he not probably been quite man whorish and (possibly) been seeing said other woman while also seeing me.

I was so over all of this. I’d deleted his texts and wasn’t talking about him anymore. And then he had to break his months-long silence quite unnecessarily and make me start to think about him all over again.

Seriously, there is an expiration date on coming back into someone’s life. To keep the coulda woulda shouldas at bay.

Not good. At all.

“So, they’re thinking July.”

My Mother was unloading her packages from the grocery store Friday evening, as I stood barefoot in her kitchen. After a full day of work, I’d been at a meeting for a nonprofit I’m working with (Because, you know, I have enough free time and, um, knowledge to be on the board of a nonprofit, right? Sure!) and it was near to their house, so I’d stopped by. She’d invited me to stay for dinner and as I had plans and no intentions of making plans, I’d accepted.

“They’re getting married in July?” I asked her.

“Yes, they’re getting married in July. Or so Your Brother says.”

“Did I miss the part where My Brother asked My Future Sister In Law to marry him?”

“He called me from the jewelry store just a few minutes ago.”

“Oh. My. God.”

My heart began to beat faster. As I breathed in, I heard a voice in the back of my head say, “Your younger brother is getting married.”

I breathed out and the voice said, “In six months or so.”

I breathed in and the voice reminded me. “Your younger brother is getting married. In six months or so. Before you.”

Mom interrupted my thoughts – “Do you not think he should get married?”

“Oh! No! I DO think he should get married. I mean, she is wonderful and she keeps him grounded and they are obviously in love and they’ve been dating for like five years and they have lived together so they know that it isn’t always easy. And I think she is great and he should snap her right up and I am very very very happy for them…” I was speaking very quickly to drown out the nagging voice that was repeating “In six months or so …”

“So? What’s the problem?”

“Mom, my 24-year-old brother is getting married BEFORE me. In six months. I probably won’t even have a date. In six months, I will OFFICIALLY be the Unmarried Spinster Older Sister.”

“Nonsense! Your Younger Sister is still in high school! She has years before she gets married. So you have years before you’ll be the Spinster!”

“MOM!” I yelped, horrified. The voice in the back of my head was yelling now, “IN SIX MONTHS OR SO …”

“What?” I think she meant to crack a joke about my sister (currently age 17) marrying before I do. Clearly My Mother, the oldest child in her family who married My Father (also the oldest child in his family) when they were both 21, had underestimated my emotions about being beat to the altar by one or more of my younger siblings.

Being The Oldest means you do things first. You ride your bike first. You get your first kiss first. You go to high school first. You drive and go to prom and enroll in college first.

You also fall off of the bike first and get your heart broken first and have the first big fights with your parents. You disappoint them first. You please them first. And they lessen or strengthen their grasp on your younger siblings based on all of the things that you, The Oldest Child, do first.

This is the role of Oldest Children. We test the waters first. And then we motion our Younger Siblings in to the pool and watch them and hope they don’t drown and do our best to save them when they get in trouble and warn them when they’re going too far into the deep end.

Being the Oldest Child means you are a trailblazer. You set the tone and raise the bar and only after you do things are your younger siblings to do something. And though my oldest child friends have assured me that I am a professional woman who works hard and that this is the trail I am blazing, I know they’d all be crushed to be the Unmarried Spinster Older Sibling at their own younger siblings weddings.

Back in my parents’ kitchen on Friday evening, I was mortified.

“Mom! That was the WRONG answer. You were supposed to say, “Oh dear, you are fabulous. YOU will NEVER be a SPINSTER!’”

I knew my favorite shoe store was about to have its semi-annual tent sale even before they put out the sign. I have a sixth sense about these things.I informed The Banker and we set our plans. This would be my third consecutive tent sale and her second. I was feeling lucky, as my past sales have left we with $10 Steven by Steve Madden shoes and Kenneth Cole Unlisted sandals. And, as a twist, the store now offers a $35 table for the pricier shoes. This table has better quality and fewer people shopping it. Win-win, right?

We met an hour before the sale at the coffee shop across the street. I’d gotten cash from the ATM to take advantage of the “cash only” line that moves much quicker than the credit card line. We sipped our lattes and headed over to the store about 35 minutes before it started.

There was a problem. It was raining. And what had started as a light drizzle was becoming a steady rain and gathering in puddles. We’d assumed this would keep many people from the sale, which is typically held a tent in the front parking lot.

We were wrong.

There were at least thirty women ahead of us in line. Apparently the sale was being held inside to avoid the rain, with tables set up in different areas. This was a terrible idea, as the store is sort of small and lined with racks and racks of regularly priced shoes.

People began cutting in line because it seemed only logical that they’d be letting people inside in small groups. This seemed terribly unfair to The Banker and Me. Perhaps it was years of being educated in religious schools, but fairness is very important to us both. If other women were there first, it is only fair that they get to the tables first. But the others? Should be behind us in line. For justice’s sake.

They opened the doors at 10 a.m. sharp and women rushed in. The Banker and I headed to opposite tables. I made it through half of mine and came out with one pair of black pointy mules with fringe on them. I moved to the next table. The crowd was out of control. It was worse than having the sale outside because no one could move. Each time you’d touch a box, someone would grab it. You have to be methodical and quick. Make a snap judgment and either grab or go. No time for deliberation.

Four boxes of shoes fell to the floor. I tried to pick them up and place them back on the tables, but I found that as soon as I leaned over, I couldn’t get back up.
I moved to another table and grabbed some gold strappy shoes before I retreated to a corner to try them on. Once I got them out of the box, I saw how hideous they were – iridescent sequins decorated the straps in a very tacky way. The black fringed ones fit, but I’d never wear them.

“And they’re not even worth $10 if you’ll never wear them,” The Banker remarked. She was right, so I put them back and waited while she paid for her one pair of very cute suede brown high-heeled loafers.

We were back in the car by 10:18, which is the least amount of time I’ve ever spent at a shoe store ever. I was depressed that I hadn’t made any purchases. We’d both expected to spend more time at the sale and to have more purchases to show off.

We decided to go to another, higher end store around the corner. I’d never been, but I’d always wanted to see their shoes.

The shopping experience was completely opposite. The stylishly dressed salesgirls offered us drinks (we declined) and pointed us to the sales rack in the back. We talked about the other sale (which is becoming urban legend type legendary in my neighborhood) and they couldn’t believe they’d held the sale inside.

The Banker tried on some shoes. I picked up some Michael Kors loafers with a ridiculous heel. The Banker scoffed at the heel. They looked fabulous on my foot, but were quite impractical. They were on sale, but they were still $90. And they were clearly fall or winter shoes that I’d only be able to wear a few times before the hot climate here necessitated something springier.

The salesgirl sat another pair of Michael Kors on the couch next to me. I was about to walk away, but I decided to try them on just for fun.

They were wedges with tan canvas and a peep toe. The four-inch wedge was covered in caramel covered leather and they looked fantastic. I loved them instantly, but was not prepared to pay more than $100 on them.

I went to put them back when I saw that they were marked down from $178 to $44.

And I couldn’t say no. They’re perfect for summer and spring, with either denim or a flowy skirt. And so they are mine mine mine.

And if you think that I didn’t wear them with just a T-shirt while I wrote then post, then you don’t know me at all.

Relaxation and Man Detox mission semi accomplished this weekend.

To wit:

The Done:

• Lazy dinner with wine Friday evening
• Colored over old blonde highlights and crazy roots; am officially all brunette again
• Nails, French manicured
• Benefit Mascara purchased
• Take out sushi consumed while watching Grey’s Anatomy Saturday night
• Wine, enjoyed with Southern Belle at fancy downtown wine bar Saturday night

The Undone:

• Lauren Clutch unpurchased (A pox on you for running out, Dillard’s!)
• New book unselected (and therefore unread)
• Gym and Farmer’s Market unvisited
• Chicago Bears unbeaten

And the most important stat of all:

• Zero former man flames texted, IMed or called

Now THAT is real progress.

I am excited to announce some changes at this here blog. This girl, she’s moving on up. To a deluxe blog with its own domain.

That’s right. I am now the proud owner of www.charmingbutsingle.com. Effective today, all future Charming, but Single knowledge will be dropped over there.

Why am I moving?

For a lot of reasons, really. I’ve wanted to take the blog to its own domain for a while now. I’ve outgrown Blogger – as evidenced by the fact that I actually can’t transfer my blog to New Blogger. I’m told my blog is too big – too many posts or comments.

I wanted to move to WordPress, which is generally regarded as a superior blogging tool. And it seemed silly to move the blog to WordPress and NOT get a domain. So here I am.

For you, the reader, things should pretty much be the same. The template of the new blog is almost identical to the old blog, only without some of the annoying quirks when you read it in Firefox (and you should be using Firefox, because, hello. Way better than IE). You won’t need a Blogger or Google account to post comments. You can post using a WordPress account, but you certainly don’t have to.

There are still some quirks to work out. I’ve got to add Technorati links and some other things to the sidebar. But you can still e-mail me at charmingbutsingle at gmail dot com. And everything will be back to normal — only BETTER normal — soon. For starters, I’ve written a slightly longer bio that you can read on the “About” page.

Please update your blogrolls to reflect the new address, www.charmingbutsingle.com. The old Blogger site will stay up for awhile, but I’m going to slowly fix the links on the new site so that it doesn’t link back to the old one. I’m sure this will take awhile (unless anyone knows how to make universal site changes in WordPress!). I have turned off comments on this blog so that you will HAVE to use the new blog. (Don’t worry! All of your old comments? Totally on the new site!)

To recap: A better blogging experience at www.charmingbutsingle.com.