It hit me with the force of a thunderbolt this afternoon, that I have developed a nasty, subconscious habit…a habit I have guffawed and deplored in others for years. A habit I’ll be working hard to squelch in myself now that I’ve had to consciously acknowledge it. What is this habit, you may ask?
Okay, but up until now I have never carried my matchmaking to the point of action, I just like to think about how nice so-and-so would be with so-and-so…how their senses of humor might match up, or how cute they’d look in church, or even how they both happen to love chocolate chip cookies. Little things. But like Emma (from Jane Austen’s classic), I catch myself reveling in a thrill of real pride whenever two people end up together and I can convince myself, “I knew it!” (even though, usually, I didn’t).
Today, I almost did something that would have carried me over the line from the game I play in my head to the real deal. I came *this* close. I even toed the line a little bit to see what might happen. Nothing happened. Then I woke up and saw what’s become of me, and I ran screeeeeaming away.
I am better than this.
Seriously, it must be some bizarre, psychological need I have to impose romance on those around me, even if I’m not really seeking it out for myself. Sheesh. Please, if you see me in some corner at a party, watching people with a peculiar glint in my eye and a sappy smile on my face, slap me, throw something at me, call me names–do anything you must, only I beg you, save me from myself.