perversity

It always starts out the same.

What year are you? they ask. Oh, my! Going on to medical school so soon, isn't it wonderful! I smile and nod, but privately I'm gritting my teeth because nobody needs clairvoyance to know what comes next. Approximately 2.8 seconds after we've settled where I'm most likely going to medical school, their eyes glaze over a bit, and they look confused. But...wait. You're not going to Loma Linda? Why?

It doesn't matter how much I extoll the virtues of WVSOM. Which I had thought was eminently practical, since it's 12 minutes from home, and my 'rentals have let me make my own decisions since I was, what, 16? So where's the downside to having someone to do my laundry and make sure I eat? But none of this matters. Nobody can conceive of a world where $280,000 for school versus $80,000 might just look a bit ridiculous, not if the school is Adventist. Not if I ever want to get married and have babies.

I've started being perverse, and flashing astonishment when they take this tack. Babies? Heavens no, I don't want a kid! What would I ever do with it? They're messy and loud and if I invest in something that expensive, I'm going for a puppy every time. Oh, the joy. Every one of them gets this horrified look and they shoot little glances at each other, thinking, She can't possibly mean that. It's downright unnatural. I smile cheerfully and begin discussing the merits of schnauzers verus rhodesian ridgebacks, just long enough for them to recover.

Then, we move on to reassurances, on their sides, that it's all right, I have plenty of time. But their voices trail off as they inwardly pity me. You almost don't need to read their thoughts to read them. Poor girl, she's going to be in a secular medical school. She has almost no chance of meeting someone there. I wonder why she hasn't found anyone yet? What is it that I don't know about her? I thought she was sweet, but...

Always the same. Always predictable. So now I'm just, down. And angsty. And angry. I've had so many people, random ones, in the past few weeks, tell me that I need to hurry up and find a guy before it's too late. Or change my med school preferences to Loma Linda. Or stay in the States when I'm done, at least long enough to find a man. As if my life is defined by my marital status. I think not.

And even when I tell them that I'm ok with this (finally), that I'm not freaking out because I've been single for most of my college education, they blink. Well, don't close yourself off! You need to be open to things! As if there are only two options: to actively shun all interaction, including eye contact, with the opposite sex; or to be hunting men with a spear, grabbing them by the hair and dragging them back to my cave. Seriously? Seriously.