In case you missed it, my Dad commented on my last post. He wrote “Now you’re getting close,” and then ignored my digital overtures for him to elaborate.
Over the phone, though, he explained: apparently, he thought my analysis of “male-female relationships” in that latest essay was more accurate than previous efforts.
“You’re getting there,” he assured me.
“What happens when I get there?” I asked, panicked, and unclear whether we were talking about my achievement of truly understanding romantic love or me ever finding a boyfriend.
“Well, you’ll move on to something else,” he replied. At this point I was fairly sure we were talking about the blog.
“But I want it to keep going!” I responded.
“You’re going to keep writing about this?”
Don’t get me wrong: I am not trying to diminish my father’s support of my endeavors. I’m fairly sure he’s sent out this link to more people than I have in the past few days; frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s considered paying people to read my essays. The man is nothing if not devoted.
And: he’s got a point. The conceit of writing indefinitely about my dating life is potentially problematic. For one, it assumes that I’ve got one–which, in this town, is no small assumption. And it assumes that I want to keep one…indefinitely. Which, if you’ve been paying any attention,you are aware that I clearly don’t. I would throw away my single-dom faster than you can tell me to “relax.” Honestly, my first thought when I watched that “Ira and Abbey” movie was: brilliant! I am going to propose to the next man that I can sustain a conversation with!
But alas, if that were the case I might already be engaged. Which, sadly, I’m not.
At least, for now, I still have something to write about.