Once upon a time, there was a princess in her home town far away from her comfortable singles’ city of Los Angeles…
Conversation with a distant relative I haven’t seen in a year:
Holiday time relative: “how are things with you?”
Me: “really great, grad school is going well, my job…. “
HTR: “….good, good, are you and Chris still together?”
Me: “No, we decided to take a break and go our separate ways…”
HTR: “Oh, that’s really too bad. Don’t worry, it’s hard, me and Frank did that and then decided we loved eachother too much. Maybe it will work out with you two as well.”
….and so on for the following 20 minutes.
Why are my other accomplishments trivial in comparison to my love life? Why is my love life the only thing anyone else ever cares to chat about? Why am only the sum of the frogs that I have kissed and my life is only considered meaningful when it involves one of those frogs? What happened to good ol’ fashioned feminism?