Do I?

Let me tell you a story: a girl of 27 living life humbly as an elementary school teacher meets a fantastic guy and gets engaged. In two months, they will be newlyweds. She will continue to work, she says, but hopes her husband will make enough money so that she can be a stay-at-home housewife. She seems happy enough, and has truly found a man who seamlessly fits into her family; he's cute, smart, and Italian. And no it's not me, just to avoid any misinterpretation of the story. At this point, it does seem as if they will live happily ever after.

Let me tell you another story: a girl of 29, newly hired as a professor at a New York college, soon to complete her dissertation and receive a PhD. She has already completed her Master's, and apparently has nowhere to go but up. Her students love her, she's an excellent teacher, and she has the potential to go on to bigger and better colleges, where one will no doubt grant her tenure. She seems happy enough, and has found, in my mind, a truly satisfying career. In addition to this fabulous success, she also has a domestic partner. No, she isn't a lesbian. Her boyfriend has lived with her so long that the government has ostensibly married them on their tax forms. When asked if she ever wanted to get married, she replied "Eh."

So what do these two stories tell us? One woman happily satisfied with her husband, not with her career, and another woman feeling the exact opposite. So here's the dreadful question we as a society must ask: Who's happier? 

For a long time now, as most people know, the prospect of marriage and family has never appealed to me, and I have for the most part lived for myself. My ambitions are to buy a Classic Six on the Upper East Side, not to share it with someone. I don't mean to pump out another Carrie Bradshaw-esque post on this sorry little blog, but it comes across my mind as strange that I've never once wanted to meet someone, build a life with him and have children. Perhaps because of my orientation, or my disdain for some of my relatives, I have no impulse to propagate my gene pool. Or perhaps it's because I detest little children and would, if given the opportunity, reject rearing them properly and perform psychological experiments on them just out of sheer curiosity. Such as, oh, let's say showering one with gifts and praise and locking the other up in the basement feeding him cow hooves and old milk and comparing and contrasting the final outcome. Or naming my son "Wendy" and force him to wear girls' clothes to see if it has any effect on his gender identification or sexual orientation. 

As it can be seen, Social Services would be up my ass if I were a parent. At least if I were a parent now, anyway. This doesn't really cover the eternal, lifelong relationship part of the equation that I do not enjoy anymore. Why don't I have the urge to shack up with a guy and share my deepest darkest secrets with him? My friends have boyfriends, my cousins have husbands, so what's wrong with me? Perhaps I should just give a relationship a try. And I mean a real relationship, not the two dates and a blowjob in a public restroom kind of relationship that I---have heard some people have. Maybe. 

So what are we to believe? The woman who might not have the best personal life, despite all of the success she has otherwise, is not really happy? If I concentrate on my studies and just try to get degree after degree, what, I'm not worthy of anyone's reverence because I didn't just go to some bar, pick up some guy, and marry him? And what if, maybe, I will really feel fulfillment in my life if I'm in a relationship? What am I to do?   

Anyway, with the prospect of New York legislature granting gay marriage rights to the masses, maybe I should just consider finding a sugar daddy to marry me, that way I can figure this stuff (re: my life) out while not breaking a sweat about my credit card debt or rent bills in exchange for the occasional handjob. That's the kind of relationship I can picture myself in. For the time being, anyway.