Minority Report

So today I was reminded that I am extraordinary. That sometimes all people see is the minority you represent. They look and make judgements based on appearance. Yes my precious, today I was reminded that I was a 30 (cough) something SINGLE woman living a fabulous and happy life. BEWARE
Apparently this is not acceptable in society as my blast with my married past was quick to remind me today. I was on the tube when I looked up and spotted a 2 stone heavier version of a football buddy pal of my ex hubbys. My mandatory duty consisted of asking after his wife, (the one I used to fondly refer to as Poo instead of Lou) cooing over the baby photos (now 4 and 2) and had a mini debate about Darling’s budget and how no stamp duty would impact on their selling their 2 bed Twickenham house. Riveting stuff indeed.

Then he turned to me and said “And you? How’s ……work?” WORK!! WORK !! Coward.

So I dove in and regaled him of tales of deals snatched from the jaws of defeat, travelling all over the country and me being the Condoleezza Rice of my industry (without the 4am starts).

He responded with a story of how his wife, a primary school teacher was going to go back to work 3 days a week cos young Amber(2) still needed a mummy. I realised that all of the wives of the football team were basically the same. Blonde, pretty in a Nuts mag way and jobs that generally ended at 4pm. Ie severely under- paid WAGS. I on the other hand wanted the Bentley salary and loads of men hanging outside my dressing room. We can all dream.

I asked him about all the old mutual friends and he seemed reluctant to tell me about all the marriages and new additions to the old group. The looks of pity he kept slipping me masked the fact that he thought that I had failed at mini WAGdom.

Just as we parted I asked him if he kept in touch with everyone by Facebook. “I don’t have time for Facebook” he responded patronisingly. DON’T HAVE TIME!!! I have spent hours on Facebook pouring over annotated photos of babies that are mere hours old and getting daily updates. A single girl doesn’t have that sort of time! I don’t even tag myself anymore.

I status updated my fury straight away (my name is Chelsea and I’m an addict) and was comforted by my virtual friends who reminded me that the single woman makes people bloody uncomfortable.

So that’s it. Next month I am off to Tiffany’s to buy me a bauble with my hard earned cash. The beauty of being single is that I don’t have to wait for a man to buy it for me and if I surreptitiously move it onto my left hand when faced with a blast from the past well, it’s for the greater societal good. Smooches!!

© Chelsea Black