Charming, but single

So, I told my parents that I was seeing The Nurse. It wasn’t because I have any idea where this relationship is going after almost a month of dating. It was mostly because I couldn’t come to a family dinner because I was going out with him. And partially because they act as if I am a lost cause – a spinster, a permanent singleton, a future hermit shut in cat lady. I wanted them to know that I am not totally hopeless. That I do interact with guys and that men like me and that – gasp! – I do sometimes have a date on a Saturday night and I can’t come to dinner. That I am hot stuff! So far from Spinsterhood! So! Far! Their reaction left a little to be desired. “A date?” My Mother repeated loudly into the phone in that tone that you’d use if someone, say, announced that they were joining the circus or something. “Where did you meet this date?” In the background, I could hear shuffling and noise like a herd of people running to the phone. And my Father echoed her sentiments, “[Charming] has a date?” It was only mildy humiliating. And the humiliation only got worse the next day when I visited them for lunch. I barely made it into the door and my Father came over to me. As I took a seat at the kitchen table, he put on arm on my shoulder and said, quite patronizingly, “Don’t worry, I don’t think meeting someone on Match.com is weird. I know they all think using a Web site to find a date is weird, but I don’t.” He motioned to my Mother and my Brother, who were anxiously awaiting the details of my dating life so that they could pick it apart. You would have thought they’d never spoken to a single woman in her mid-20s before, which is odd, since I am their daughter. Like this “Online Dating” thing was something I made up for all of the other Trekkies and Star Wars fans. “You’ve been out with several of these guys?” Mother asked nervously, like I was letting rapists and serial killers into my home. “You, like, let them drive you places?” Mom expressed concern for my safety. I felt as if she was judging me for turning to personal ads and I knew that she’d probably told my aunts about this and was considering how she’d tell my grandmother and that soon my chatty, judgmental Catholic family would be buzzing about my dating life and how I met a man on the “Internets,” with that hushed tone of voice that Southern Catholic women save for the really juicy gossip, like when the couple down the street gets divorced because he was sleeping with his secretary or when So-and-So’s kid doesn’t get into Fancy Catholic Private School because she is a behavior problem. And that if I did stop seeing The Nurse, they’d want to know if I’d still be on Match.com. I answered the basic questions – where he is from, what he does, what he looks like, why I liked him. “Is he nice?” Mom asked. “No, Mom, he’s a total jerk and I hate spending time with him,” I sniped. “What didn’t you tell us about him sooner?” “Because it’s a casual thing. We’re just dating and I didn’t want it to be this BIG THING.” My Brother, who at 24 has a live-in girlfriend he’s been dating since he was 18, was less kind in his questions. “So, is this guy, like, damaged goods?” he asked from across the table. I almost choked on the air I breathed in. “Damaged goods? Like, how?” “Well, he’s 30 and he doesn’t have a woman.” “I’m 26 and I don’t have a man, does that make ME damaged goods?” I crossed my legs and folded my arms across my chest and gave him the Oldest Child Staredown, just daring him to answer. He changed the subject. “So, when do we get to meet this guy?” he asked. “I gotta meet this guy.” I threw my hands up in the air. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you I was kind of casually seeing someone,” I said. “Why?” asked my mom. “Because of this questioning! And wanting to meet him! This is like the Spanish Inquisition,” I said. “Only, without the killing me after questioning.”