Single Queen seeks King.........or not???

So, now that I've taken a few days off from torturing myself about the “plan,” I am free to focus on the happenings on this planet which is spinning around me.

Today, I am talking about men, husbands in particular, because, as you recall, I am the newly – if not self – appointed Queen of the Universe, and I cannot help but notice, the throne to my right is empty.

I see an amazing trend. While I am canvassing the planet in search of my husband – who will automatically become king- it seems as if everyone I know is throwing theirs out. In a sense, I get this. Husbands can be an enormous pain in the ass. They make extra laundry, and occasionally chase their bag of Lays with your nonfat yogurt. Some husbands can fix things, but I hear this isn't always the case, and with this, I agree. The men with whom I've had occasion to share my domicile were sadly incapable. Sure, we had tools, but if CSI has ever shown up and dusted them for prints, they wouldn't have found a man's prints on them.

Singlehood has its perks. When you're single, there is always toilet paper, and it is never teetering on the holder, held in place by the empty roll. And, if there isn't toilet paper, it's your own fault, and, since you live alone, no one sees you toddling to the toilet paper cabinet with your knickers around your ankles. There are other benefits to singlehood. You don't have to cook if you don't feel like it. You can eat a Lean Cuisine while standing over the kitchen sink, if the mood strikes you. And, if you've had a particularly hard day, you can eat an entire half gallon of Perry's Banana Cream Pie, without your man leering at you like the freakin' diet police. Another perk is you don't have to hide your new shoes, or the shopping in which they were housed for ease of carrying. I don't have a husband. I have dogs. So, unless my new shoes are basted in chicken marinade, the dogs don't give a shit what's in the bag.

Husbands do.

I had a husband once. The novelty wore off quickly. I gave him back, and eventually the hate mail, from the person to whom I'd awarded this testosterone-filled treat, stopped coming.

I almost had another husband. I left that one during the state of purgatory known as engagement. He was a fabulous turd, a narcissist without good reason to be narcissistic. These are the worst kind.

He made me feel like crap, and I stayed with him just long enough to no longer recognize the face staring back at me in the mirror. When that happened, I faltered in my devotion to him. Not much after that, he announced he was leaving. I cried for an entire day, but only one. After that first day, I wore a shit-eating grin. He was gone, and I was free to reclaim my pre-fiance identity, and burn lilac candles which eventually covered the stink of narcissism. My former fiance left with my engagement ring in hand, and I got the cat and the washing machine. Trust me, this is a good deal. If you ever have a chance to trade your husband for an Energy Star appliance, do it. The opportunities to do this are rare. When God closes that door, he doesn't always open a window. Sometimes you're trapped in a doorless, windowless room, with the shithead you agreed to marry because he was down on one knee and you were loaded with tequila.

Someday soon, I expect, we'll have husband shelters, much like animal shelters. And, there should be an exchange day. Drop off your husband, get a cat. No charge.

If you get this chance, do it. These opportunities don't come along every day.

I'm gonna simmer on the pros and cons of having a man. I'll be back with another excerpt. You know I will.