Kelly’s Unnecessary Blog

If I were a single man, no one would give much thought to the life I lead. And since I am not close to very many people, I can probably guess on one hand how many people have given it even something resembling even half of a passing thought.

But I am a woman in my later forties. That should at least give me myself and Irene pause, if no one else.

Over the last few weeks I have come to the realization that I live the life of a bachelor man. Not even a bachelorette. I’m not looking to hook up with anyone. I’ve never been married, I’ve never had a relationship that lasted for more than six months. I’m not sure either of those things will happen, and I’m not sure I care, as in, want.

But, a bachelor minus the one-night stands. Or any stands. We’re all older now, right? But there is plenty of beer. But not in a drunk-on-MichGoldenLight(is that even possible?)-with-my-buddies kind of way.

So maybe it’s not so much like a bachelor after all. I like beer with actual flavor. I read an article earlier today that in the UK, Molson Coors is launching a beer targeted at women that comes in the clear filtered, crisp rose, and zesty lemon varieties. What the heck, gals? Real women drink IPA (that’s India Pale Ale for you pisswater drinkers). Man up!

Beer has as much or—*gasp*—more variety than wine. You should try something different sometime.

It’s true that I don’t leave the toilet seat up, or squeeze the toothpaste tube from the middle. But I do go for weeks without scrubbing the sink, scrubbing the bathtub, vacuuming, doing laundry, folding laundry, months without putting clean clothes away because it’s just as easy to grab clean underwear from the laundry basket. I didn’t realize how gross my toilet was until I had friendly houseguests a few weeks ago and, when I had the brief chance, used the visit as an excuse to investigate the situation. Well, I never lift up the toilet seat. I didn’t realize what was going on under there. The situation has been rectified.

I do keep up with doing the dishes. I don’t want my cats to get any fancy ideas. Before you ask, I only have two cats. And a rabbit.

Maybe I keep up with doing the dishes because there are fewer and fewer of them these days. I love cooking. One of my favorite ways to spend a day used to be making lunches and suppers for the upcoming week during Sunday afternoon. But due to a combination of laziness and the awakening of my enjoyment of eating out, particularly at lunchtime, homecooking has become an endangered species. I have a friend who says that if it doesn’t beep, he doesn’t make it. I’m not to that point, but it really is appalling how little I cook at home right now.

Part of that, particularly with regard to lunch, is because it’s summer and the food trucks are out. I adore the food trucks. But that’s a whole other topic.

I have enough socks and underwear to easily go a month or more without doing the aforementioned laundry. I hate doing laundry. That’s not a guy thing, that’s a chore thing. Nobody likes chores.

What is just a single thing, and not exactly a guy thing, is that I am independent and can do whatever I please. I like that. When I’m feeling non-antisocial and actually want to do something, I’m not the one who has to consult with someone else for permission (though I do believe in communicating and having the courtesy to stay in touch if plans are changing, not that I have a lot of experience with such matters). I just do it. A lot of the time that means that I do it by myself, and that’s okay. I’m comfortable with that.

I also don’t have to put stuff away around the house because there’s no one else here to see whether I did or didn’t. You know, except the cats.

I have NASA-TV on in the background. I really like it when the show “earth views” from the cameras in high orbit. I see that the space shuttle Atlantis has completed over one complete Earth-orbit since I started writing this (you do the research to see how long that is). I have to get up in five hours so, though there’s nobody waiting in bed and nagging me, I’d better wrap this up.

It should be noted that a man-bachelor wouldn’t have such a snazzy shower curtain.