The Johnny-Jump-Up, a common wildflower of Europe, is a close relative of the more-cultivated pansy. In fact, pansies will revert over the generations to resemble their Johnny-Jump-Up ancestors.

Sofia just finished writing a paper about common problems with the reproductive system and how to treat them. She is very thankful she is done.

Seriously, learning about the reproductive system just about kills any silly little delusions I might have had about romance and true love. I think I’ll be a nun.

But wait; I’m Lutheran. Lutheran’s aren’t nuns. Martin Luther made that true when he married one, thus un-nunning her. Rats.

I guess the only option left open to me is to be a cat lady. Hey; that’s fine. I’ll buy myself a big old Victorian house and paint it bright purple with buttercream yellow trims. I’ll have window boxes; lots and lots of window boxes. They’ll be full of catnip and Johnnie-Jump-Ups, to match my house.

There’ll be a gazebo in the yard overlooking the heavily-guarded hen house where I’ll have tea parties with my cats. We’ll have flower-patterned and mis-matched china and catnip tea and talk about the olden days; except that we’ll be too young to talk about the old days, and will have to resort to talking about how the old days probably were. I’ll probably have a beehive and produce my own honey and make beeswax candles while I’m at it.

The inside of my house will be frighteningly clean, except for the copious amounts of cat and Sofia hair clinging to everything no matter how hard I try to keep it under control. Each room will be a different pastel color, and there will be nothing new inside. Everything will come from Goodwill, old ladies at church, garage/yard/rummage/estate sales, and Dumpsters. I’ll have a landline for the rest of my days, and it’ll be a dial phone while we’re at it.

Since I’ll have only myself to please, I’ll wear Civil War dresses and enormous hoop skirts every day. I’ll have to widen all the doorways just to get through. I’ll probably live next to a school, and I’ll be out in the garden at 2:30 when all the school children get out, and they’ll stare at me as they walk by. When it’s sunny, I’ll wear sun bonnets and enormous straw hats and parasols.

I’ll keep Angora rabbits and spin Angora yarn out of them. I’ll dye it with tea and safflowers and roots and Kool-Aide and knit to my heart’s content. Maybe I’ll even learn to crochet. I’ll probably start making my own shoes out of old tires and making soap out of bacon grease and old cooking oil.

When I’m feeling lonely, I’ll read the Bible and take comfort in Paul’s writings about the single life. I’ll go to church. Since I’ll only have myself and my cats, I’ll have lots of time on my hands, so I’ll head dozens of church committees. The Ladies’ Quilting Group, the Sunday School group, the Beautification of Church Grounds group, the Fundraising Committee, the choir, and the Pipe Organ Committee. At church meetings and elections I’ll always be the one to raise my hand and voice my concern about such-and-such and so-and-so. They’ll be sick of me, but they won’t know what to do without me.

Hoopskirts are what make these skirts so amazingly poufy. I desperately want one.

Yup. That’s the plan. I’ll change my mind tomorrow. In truth, I love people too much to ever live alone, even if I do end up being single.

I should be a nun.

But I’m Lutheran.



One thought on “Love=Overrated

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