A League of Their Own

My friends are amazing. I realize that I am inevitably biased in saying this because, well, they're my friends. But they really are extraordinary human beings, even when viewed in the most objective light I can muster. I am in awe of how multi-faceted and talented are my friends, and they never cease to surprise me with their wonderful hearts and incredible minds. Never a dull moment with these women. And I mean that in the good way.

Now, I am not one to equate awesomeness with relationship status. You know this. Nor do I feel that my married or committed friends (haha...committed...like, mental...nevermind) are any less phenomenal because of their respective relationships, but I don't understand how anyone could let my super single gals slip through their fingers. Granted, most of the D-bags that pepper their dating history shouldn't be allowed within 10 feet of them, for everyone's sake. (In fact, I think we should be allowed to institute restraining orders for our friends and their hot mess exes, but that's another blog entirely.) We have all wasted plenty of time pining over and losing sleep over someone utterly unworthy of our time and affection, so those separations are welcomed and perhaps one of the best things for which we can hope.

These women of whom I speak are beautiful, confident, intelligent, witty, fun-loving, domestic, nurturing, reflective, spiritual, cosmopolitan, interesting, and classy. (Though they can still drop it like it's hot with the best of 'em!) And yet, they can't seem to find a good mate. Upon hearing our conversations and musings about the opposite sex, the uneducated listener may think to his-/herself, 'These broads are so picky and neurotic, no wonder they're still single.' But we simply won't settle for a mate who doesn't appreciate who we are, goofy quirks and all. I mean, we're supposed to accept that a 30-year-old man needs to play 10+ hours of Playstation a week, but God forbid we expect you to call when you say you will. Crazy gals, indeed.

I was at a lovely dinner party last night, taking in the sights and sounds (oh, and don't forget the incredible smells) of the preparations of enchiladas, nachos, fresh salsa, margaritas, etc., and marveling at how helpful and savvy are my friends when it comes to entertaining and nurturing their friends (via large quantities of cheesy goodness). These are the women I envision when I think of the kick-ass wife: barrel of laughs, handy in the kitchen, can put together an apartment-worth of furniture without losing a single piece of hardware (or ending up with a spare panel), fashionable, funny, and heartfelt in all that they do. To my point, it was during my moment of musing when the girls decided that we should celebrate each other by gifting lusted-after kitchen appliances and homewares as congratulations for making it to 30 years of age without a miserable marriage under her belt.

The implication here is not that anyone who is married or has been divorced is any less spectacular or deserving of gifts and celebration. In fact, the married ones, especially the mommies, accomplish more in an hour than I do all weekend and usually with zero recognition. And the divorcees are rebuilding their identities and hopes day-by-day, with exponentially more baggage than me (if that's possible). I just wish that we could all know what it is liked to be genuinely appreciated by someone other than our equally-wonderful girlfriends, and to embrace ourselves as whole and worthy of love in our own right.

And some good ol' snogging wouldn't be too bad either.