Sometimes an SOS succeeds

Love life no longer needs prayer list

There are some things folks over a certain age — say, folks out of puberty — ought to know without being told. You don’t startle someone who’s holding a hot iron, a pot of boiling water or a loaded shotgun. You don’t ask someone their age unless you’re carding them for alcohol or anticipating they’ll hold up fewer than 10 fingers. You don’t ask someone’s weight unless you’re a doctor and they’re your patient, and even then, tread lightly. You don’t ask a woman if she’s going to have a baby unless you see a baby emerging from between her legs at that moment (and you’d do best not to ask then, either). And you don’t put someone’s love life — or perceived lack thereof — on a church prayer list.

Yes, somehow my love life got on the prayer list. Bless their hearts.

If I’m asked once, I’m asked a half dozen times in any given week how it is that I’ve not remarried. It’s the same reason I don’t drive a Chevy, listen to rap music or eat sushi. I don’t want to, that’s why. Some folks don’t like that answer. They look at me like I’m afflicted, like singledom is a chronic disease to be cured.

“We got Gladys’ hernia on the prayer list. We need to remember Evelyn and her gallbladder. Let’s not forget to lift up Bertha’s mama’s cousin twice removed — you know he had that stint in the pen. And Lord, help us find little Lisa a man.” Oh. My. Stars.

“You know, my neighbor’s brother-in-law just got divorced. It was a nasty battle. He cries a lot. Lost his job and livin’ in his mama’s basement for the time bein’, but I think y’all’d really hit it off.”

Uh huh.

Some of the folks trying the hardest to get me hitched look absolutely miserable in their own marriages. This is not a strong selling point. Guess they reckon if they’re stuck, it’s their duty to get everyone else stuck, too.

I’ve said I do, signed I don’t, and gotten close to doing it again a couple times before my sanity took hold. I have a richer, more satisfying life now than I’ve ever had in a relationship, and I enjoy my independence.

That’s why I was reluctant to say “yes” to a good friend when he was itching to play cupid.

“I’ve known you both for years, and you’re two of my closest friends. I just think y’all should meet, and I’ll not meddle after that,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “I’ll TRY not to meddle after that,” he winked.

In the last few months, I’ve done about everything I know to spook the fella and see what he’s made of. He’s got a Hawkeye sense of humor, a B.J. Hunnicutt moral compass and a Trapper John smile. That’s a combination dangerous enough to turn me into a Hot Lips Houlihan.

Oh, Lord. I’m never going to get off the prayer list.