Tonight after work, some coworkers and I went to an open house at a new pediatric dentist office in the area. And no, it was not for the free wine. I didn't even have any. In retrospect . . . I don't know why, although I try not to drink in front of my coworkers because when I drink, the filter between my brain and mouth, the one that doesn't work too well anyway, becomes clogged with alcohol and that allows words like "hooha" and "douchebag" and "manboobs" to slip through. Truly. It's science.
The best part of this office is that the dentist is a woman and her husband (a man, FYI) is a hygienist. And her front desk person is a man. A cute man. No, I don't remember his name because I never remember anyone's name the first time I meet them. It's like I stop listening after "Hi, I'm . . ." For real, I think it's some sort of brain abnormality. Once I know your name, though, I know it forever.
Anyway, I'm kind of hoping my boss forms a very tight friendship with this new dentist. After the cute man gave us a tour of the office, one of my coworkers approached me and said, "He's cute." I nodded. "He's not wearing a ring, either," she helpfully provided. I thanked her for checking that out for me, but neglected to tell her I'd already noticed. And then I couldn't remember just when it was that I started checking the left hand of every man I meet, even the notcute ones.
Sometimes I think that my coworkers (all married, most with children) look at me as some kind of project. A Set Up the Single Girl project. Save Jennie from a permanent State of Spinsterhood (and eventual eating by wild dogs . . . heh). Which . . . OK, but most of the single males who come into our office are a) old, b) creepy, or c) fifteen. And while I'm perfectly willing to break the law, I'm not gonna go that far.
I think it's hard for them to understand that I don't particularly want to get married. I don't mean I'll never want to, but right now it's really the furthest thing from my mind. I realize that a lot of women my age, especially where I live, all tend to be married or close to marriage. I've reached the age where my friends are starting to get married. And while I wish them all the happiness in the world, I really don't understand the inclination. The veil looks itchy, the dress binding, and I much prefer my flip flops to satin high heels.