Wednesday, January 5, 2011


Sometimes I ask myself and I ask God, "is true love real?... That unconditional, need to wake up next to you and smell your morning breathe, could stare into your eyes for an hour straight and not blink because I'm so love-sick, could have sex with you everytime I look at you--- type love." I'd say that right now, I'm 50/50. Half of the time I believe in it and half of the time I don't.

When a man closing in on 40 hasn't asked his girlfriend of almost 3 years to marry him, I don't believe.

When a man treats his girlfriend with so much trust and respect that it sickens me, I do believe.

When a man cheats on his wife of less than 2 years, I don't believe.

But when a man gets down on his knees in the middle of a deep country field outside of London to ask the woman of his dreams to marry him, then takes her on a day-trip to Paris where there are love-letters intricately placed throughout the city for her to see... That's when I remember that I believe.

Almost on a daily basis I have to remind myself that God has someone in mind for me. There could be a handfull of them and none of them including myself are ready for the final hoorah. I mean, honestly, I have no idea, and if I end up as the Mama Hen of my girlfriends and am forever an old maid, I'm strangely okay with that. I think I would make a good bachelorette. Albeit, there is my backup plan: If I'm not married by age 35, I get artificially inseminated with Swamy's cousin's sperm. (He's the official donater. Sperm requirements are:

Age: Under 50

Ethnicity: Indian = beautiful babies)

But for some reason, I don't think I will need that backup plan in the end.

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