Being that I’m above the voting age and not married with kids really freaks the fuck out of some people. Then hearing that I’m happy with where I am in life practically sends them over the proverbial edge.
Aren’t you lonely? Yes, I’m so lonely that I get to do as I please whenever I please.
Who will take care of you when you’re old? My cat. Duh.
Why aren’t you married? Because I’ve never asked anyone to marry me.
Don’t know what to get a two-year-old gal? Why an apron and Spider-Man shoes of course.
Batman had Robin, I had Spider-Man.
My love of Spidey didn’t end with my welcoming of puberty. I happily stole thunder from six-year-olds as I hoarded their superhero at my table while in a Marvel restaurant at Universal Studios. Did my grown ass know better? Yes. Did I care? Hell no.
I always loved that Spidey was a lone superhero. He didn’t need a wing man, he didn’t drive a tricked out ride or wear a jet pack to zip around. My guy just used his wrist web shooters, superhuman strength and his spider sense (which I suppose for us regular humans translates to ‘gut feeling’)…basically relying on himself.
It makes sense that the no-frills, no-nonsense Spider-Man was my fave masked warrior. He used what natural powers he had to thwart the bad guys and seemed happy as Peter Parker, living a normal life – pursing love interest Gwen Stacy (or Mary Jane Watson – take your pick here), enjoying time with his Aunt Mae and being a regular dude in his ‘off’ time.
So while some people tend to look at us happily single folks, moving about our daily lives with a sympathetic eye, allow me to speak for all of us in the unattached population. We’re fine. We’re happy. In fact, we’re thriving!
It’s not to say that I don’t want to settle down, gather more cats and live alongside a partner in crime. I’d love to share my life – but I want it, I don’t need it. And I most certainly won’t settle. I’m really happy with my life, which is all anyone can ask for, ya dig?
I’ve found that as ebb and flow moments have carved my life, I’m responsible for my happiness, not anyone else. Not comic book characters. Not family members. Not friends. Not a man of romance. These relationships can enhance contentment of course but ultimately the choice of happiness falls on my own shoulders.
Which makes each one of us our own superhero.
Encountering a chance meeting with my hero Spider-Man last spring, it was all fun and games until he asked, “What’s wrong with you…you’re not married?”
Who needs a man in tights when I’m my own superhero?