Match Me If You Can

So I open my email earlier, and there it is again. A message from Another one from Yet another one from some dating site whose name I don’t recognize, which probably means they’re the shadiest of the three, kinda like the television commercials for lawyers who want you to call if you’ve been in an accident, except they want you to call fast because you can get more money if your neck is still in a brace or your arm is still in a sling. Except I know better, because I’ve called a few. Trust me, the sling doesn’t help.*

Yep. Kinda like those.

Anyway, as always, these shady emails leave me feeling confused. So, so confused. Because then I start to wonder. I wonder and I wonder and I wonder, because I am getting older and sometimes the memory fades and sometimes the things we think DO exist actually…don’t.


I remember getting married a long time ago. I SWEAR I still am. Unless I’m not…and I’ve forgotten. Which could be a possibility, because how else does anyone explain all these emails?


Maybe my husband has dumped me.** And failed to tell me. Because maybe he’s sneaky like that and I just don’t know it. Except that I washed his socks and t-shirts last night, so I’m pretty sure he still lives here.

Unless he doesn’t.

Suddenly the confusion fuels a giant headache. And just when I can’t possibly feel more mystified, I log onto my computer and read this on my homepage:

“Women Married to Same Man Discover Each Other on Facebook”

So just when I think things can’t get worse, I start to imagine another woman. Another phantom woman who is at the heart of these emails encouraging me to find another partner…another person to have dinner with…another person to eventually take home…to fold socks for. But I don’t want another man to fold socks for. Between my husband and my sons and my daughters and myself, I fold enough socks as it is.

And then it hits me.

Whether my husband has dumped me or I was never really married or I was in a car accident that I no longer remember and didn’t get much money for, it doesn’t matter. Because I don’t want to be matched with anyone else. I like my husband. I like my life. I even like my car, even though it’s ugly.

I don’t like these emails, though.


The second starts offering to set me up with someone who can help me with housework, I’ll open every single one. But until then…


Talk to you later!


*I did not really visit a lawyer
**My husband—a really great guy—has not dumped me. At least not before this post was made.

Leave a Reply