The pressure is mounting
Mom sent me a cute little article about this couple getting married. They met on their morning commute on the subway. It's not enough to let me infer that I could meet someone on my morning commute. She writes, "It could happen to you" in the margin. Thanks Mom. I'm Nic Cage and I was married to Rosie Perez, but now I'm in love with the waitress who I promised 2 million dollars.

My aunt sent me a Valentine in the mail--very sweet. The message to me was surely innocent, but it says "I hope you get a real Valentine." I thought this was a real Valentine? Now I have to hope for a real one? Will I know a real one if I see it?

My coworkers were talking this morning. I'm overhearing. I'm always overhearing. I know so much about everyones' personal business that it's probably dangerous. Married, motherly coworker says to younger (there are a few of us) one, when are you going to marry that girl and have babies? He answers glibbly and walks away.

It's coming. I know it. This woman has never acknowledged that I have a life outside of work, but I can tell that is about to end. Seconds pass. Maybe I'll get out of this after all.

The turn. The look at me. "And you? When are you going to get married?" ME? I've barely managed a date in this millenium. I have a new found fear of women. MARRIED? Why ask me that now? Right before Valentine's Day? You've never cared before, but two days before V-day and suddenly you're interested? Why do you hate me? Is it because I'm not going to be buying any high-priced jewelry or flowers for the weekend? Is that it?

"Dunno. I've got to get a date first."

Indeed.