They've given up on me, readers. My relatives have officially ceased and desisted trying to set me up with random men from the motherland or states at least 500 miles in distance from New York/New Jersey. This must be because I'm with MP, right?
The majority of my relatives don't even know MP exists. They weren't privy to the romance that unfolded on this very blog for all my readers to see. They have no idea that there might be streaming video coverage of a wedding in the near--and by near, I actually mean not so near--future (I just put MP on the spot. Ahem. Ahem. AHEM.).
So, as far as they know, I'm just as single, hopeless, with a one-way ticket on the Acela Express bound for Spinsterville as I was six months ago (and, just for the record and in spite of what Ristha Aunties have to say, Spinsterville, is a totally rockin' town). And, yet, they seem to have given up on me. Perhaps they're refocusing their attention on their high school-aged daugthers. Perhaps their threats that the older I'd get, the more and more rapidly my rishtas would dry up were more than empty scare tactics. Whatever the reason, I'm no longer the recepient of long-distance voicemail messages from foreign suitors proposing to me in broken English. All of those over-the-shoulder studio shots from would be Mr. Nerddds have disappeared. And what about those random family blind dates? Oh, how I miss those!
Of course, I jest, readers. Even if I was single today, I don't think I'd be anything short of relieved at the rishta drought I'm now facing in my gnarled old age of 29. So, to my fabulous singletons out there: keep on believing what those rishta aunties tell you about there no longer being any suitors for you post, say, 25. Freedom is within reach!