Old Maid

There’s probably some piece of honesty in the children’s card game Old Maid. You know, the game you play when the whole object is not to get stuck with the Old Maid. If you do, you lose. Apparently the game has been around forever. How we got to calling it “Old Maid”, though, is anyone’s guess. Probably because no one wants an old maid.

I got into a discussion with a friend this week about being older and still single. There’s the usual comment when someone asks if you’re married, you answer no and then they dare to ask your age: “Well, there’s still plenty of time.” I’ve heard that one quite a bit in my lifetime, but since I’ve reached my thirties the comment has changed to, “Well, there’s still hope.” I feel like they’re saying I’m out in the middle of the ocean on a raft with no food, no water, and certainly no help in sight. But don’t worry. As long as I’m breathing, there’s still hope. Of course, by this time I’m not so much hoping for salvation but a quick and painless death.

Perhaps I should put my disclaimer in right here. I know I’m not old. I’ll be 32 in a few months, yes. By this time in her life, my mom had been married nine years and had four kids. My best friend is 32. She’s been married for eight years and has five kids. Looking at it that way, I’m lagging way behind in the normal race of life. And I know because of my age I may not be blessed with the large family I would love to have. I’m not saying that doesn’t hurt, but I’m not alone either. I have many single friends in the same raft as me. If we’re hoping for salvation or death…well, it depends on the day.

In its most literal sense, “old maid” refers to a woman who is not married and beyond the age of child bearing. As a normal, healthy 31 year old woman I am certainly not that. So, why the thoughts on being an old maid? Well, it’s amazing what random thoughts you can have when sitting in bumper to bumper traffic for miles THREE mornings in a row! But there’s something else I’ve been noticing lately…

Now I have been referred to as “Miss Melissa” since I was in my late teens – by kids whom I taught that needed to show proper respect to their “elder”. And so it is today at church or among the children of my friends. But now I’m not just getting it from kids. I have a friend (older than I am) who often refers to me as “Miss Melissa” even when addressing me. The part time chaplain at work came in a couple of days ago and greeted, “How are you, Miss Melissa?” Even people on the phone I’ve done business with for months or just recently will refer to me as “Miss Melissa”. I have to confess the title associated with my name on a day-to-day basis now is making me wonder if I’ve crossed some line and entered into the territory of old maids.

I’m not discontent single. Truly. And I’m not without hope of a husband and family. Not at all. But I won’t deny it’s not hard some days to wonder why God’s perfect timing is my being single into my thirties. Why is He not putting things into place so I can live “happily ever after”? Will I even have kids? On, and on, and on…even when I see Him at work. It aches enough without being reminded about it – unintentionally, of course – but reminded all the same.

I promise I’m laughing as I write this. Because even though reminders of my age and “social status” can painfully hurt, what married woman with children can have ice cream for dinner if she feels like it? And while that doesn’t quite make up for the lack of someone who chose you over every other woman in the world or the kids who make you laugh at their antics, it is good comfort food. And comes in lots of flavors (that I get to choose without having to please anyone else). Of course, it’s not very good for the waistline…

…but then, I guess, neither is having ten kids.