My Sudanese husband.

So today I went to lunch at HyVee with Rhonda and her sister Donna. It was good times. Always is.

But I had to laugh because we get there and see Pastor Jack (not of the McConaghie variety; rather, of Faith Assembly) and his wife, and next thing I know, everyone is trying to marry me off. ("You should introduce her to John. She'd really like John. John's a good guy.")

I think I’ve talked before about the whole being a single woman in the church community thing. It’s treated more like a… disease than anything else. And churchfolks are bound and determined to cure these poor women of their illness. Especially old ladies. They’re all about hooking you up with some fine young man.

(Note: I’m being lighthearted. And I’m definitely exaggerating the HyVee conversation.)

I’m always looking for new ways to be an active part of this conversation. It’s funny ‘cause people go at it with varying amounts of fervor — everyone searching their mental rolodexes for that young man who’d be just perfect for me. Some are thinking dangerously hard.

Anyway, my most recent approach has been to start to highlight some of the qualities that would surely be on my wife résumé. I make a mean steak (or… atleast… I could… learn…). I’d never, ever question skipping important life events (ie: family holidays, friends’ weddings, my own wedding, birth of our first child, etc.) for equally important sporting events. I’m getting really good at that mom seatbelt thing. (Lots of practice with all the deer on the road home from work. I strong-arm my laptop in my passenger seat like it’s my job.) And the list goes on.

I tried “I make quilts” the other day (which is true), but this backfired because the woman I was talking to must’ve thought I was seriously pining for a husband. As it turns out, she already had someone in mind. And all her kids agreed. Now that conversation left me slackjawed. (But, bless her heart, she's GREAT.)

So now I’m trying a new approach of just saying I’m going to marry a Sudanese man. Then I can divert the conversation from the real “problem” to secondary and tertiary problems, such as, how can said Sudanese man meet my “loves the Cubs” requirement when he clearly won’t even know much about baseball? Next thing you know, the mental rolodexes are stilled and I’m still happily single.

Works… like… a… charm.