As I’ve mentioned, I’m all for being happy for everyone in my life who is getting married.  But, I gotta tell you, lately I feel like every boy I ever broke curfew with and made out with in a backseat is tying the knot.  It’s like the men of my youth come flying through the phone in bits of hometown gossip on a weekly basis.  And really, it’s a bit daunting even for the eternal optimist.

I stopped thinking about the pick-up truck driving, tobacco chewing, country music-lovin’ men of my youth awhile back, (yeah… there was a little bit of a pattern happening then).  They were serious MEN, or at least they seemed it at the time, to little old me, whose heart was desperate to be scooped up by boys who went fishing on the weekends and shot squirrels on occasion.  (True. Ask my college roommates).

These MEN were quickly replaced with the “investment bankers,” who weren’t really investment bankers at all.  They were just boys who worked in finance with jobs that I couldn’t identify, so I simply categorized them as “investment bankers.” ** See Sloane Crosley’s book They lasted through college…more or less.

But they are terrible too. Really, I think worse than the hillbilly boys I used to love.  They’re selfish, cocky, routinely mean on purpose and probably wouldn’t know what to do with a shotgun if a squirrel was staring them in the face.  Pansies.

I don’t want to generalize…not all pretend “”investment bankers” are bad. I’m sure some of them are nice. They just don’t live in New York City.  I digress.

Literally as the ghosts of hook-ups past hit the altar and head for “Happily Ever After” I’ve come to tuck  my prepubescent memories away one at a time and cross them off the list.   I’m O.K with this.  Really I am.

I’ve realized I’m pretty damn happy right where I am, in my own little corner of the city trying to find a happy little balance of a MAN in a suit, who’s nice on purpose, blasts a little Rascal and Toby Keith from their truck, and isn’t afraid of a squirrel.

Too much to ask?

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