"Hi. How are you, sweetheart?
" Compared to having your number read from your diary by your most hated teacher, who, as one might expect, has already sensed your gaps, this question is more biased than it seems. Because who cares about you, especially the neighborhood's famous gossip who somehow managed to marry the incredibly wealthy Marcin? She always finds the most inopportune moment in your life—a turning point, I'd say—just to make you feel like others have it worse, and then immediately pretend to be a neighbor deeply concerned about society. In my case, she hit the nail on the head with this question—the perfect time for a woman's self-pity (it doesn't matter that she's just "the nosy lady," but maybe she just happens to have a pack of tissues, because right now, those are exactly what I need most to be happy).
Oh my God!!! There must be something wrong with me... So what if I score the best in the entire editorial office on IQ tests, that I definitely don't look my twenty-five years, and I don't even have reason to complain about my looks, at least that's what others say – see: colleagues at work, more often friends, and most often, because at every opportunity – my own mother. Or maybe I have some kind of twisted personality? Maybe there's something about it that keeps me waiting for a fairytale prince (I've always believed that books distort character and exaggerate reality), that prevents me from accepting the man from the stationery store who tries so hard to be nice and keeps telling everyone else – "Stop! You're not even a prince!"
Good for me – for everyone else... suddenly, some guy on the bus who just remembered he's going to an exam; To the photographer who's annoyingly playing with my head – "More to the right... oh so good! Please straighten up and smile – oh yes! Yes!"...
Besides that, there's a complete lack of any proposals (so what if my goddaughter's godfather is single...), not to mention any marriage proposals, and if there are any, they're just like, "Hey, sweetie, where are you going?"
If only that legend about hearts searching for each other were true – I swear I'd travel the world to find mine. Even if it were a conceited, self-righteous, boring as dishwater hypocrite. But damn it!! – still no signs in heaven or earth!!
Am I asking too much? I just want to be seen as Beauty in the eyes of the Beast, I want to experience the greatest adventure of my life with her (to experience the adventure, not be the adventure), and finally, it would be nice to meet her. Wherever and whoever she is... sigh. I'd even put up with his dirty socks by the bed, lectures about the superiority of his opinions and views over mine, "fights" over the TV remote (including the pillows—it doesn't matter that it gathers dust), moralizing about excessively high cosmetics bills, complaining about undersalted soup (even his mother should make better ones), a midlife crisis with all its inconveniences—hair loss and graying, demanding praise and agreement—really!! I really could endure all of that, but if only there was someone for him, if only he was mine—my own, personal knight in armor...
And I have to say it. Man!! You're to blame!!! Blame it on the fact that there are lonely women like me, for not being like the ones in romantic comedies (you don't even try to be because you're too bored and exhausted to: conquer, conquer, charm, dazzle, shine, dazzle, delight, addict, intrigue, etc.), and finally, for having to complain to her (my dear nosy lady), even though there are a million more important things happening in the world right now that could grab my attention. I blame you for being...
- Well, hello. I'm fine, sweetheart.
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