Why Do I Want to Get Married So Badly?

I am a Femmebot. What’s a Femmebot? A Femmebot is a Basic Bitch. It means I have standardized programming. I have no original thought. I believe what has been fed to me since I was a child. Before the label “Basic Bitch” entered our urban lexicon, I always suspected I was a Femmebot. A robot programmed by mass media. Same same.

So when I see friends’ wedding photos on Facebook, I am jealous and the little Basic Bitch (Princess) voice in my head starts whining:

  • Waaa! Why am I not the one getting married?
  • Why don’t MY boyfriends propose to me?
  • Am I not pretty and smart and marriageable? My mom says I ammmmm!
  • But I am loyal and kind and..and..and… territorial and independent and hold a very low opinion of men…

Oh yeah. I am not married because I don’t particularly like men. I like penis. But not men. Therefore, the men I date are not marry-able. Cuz you can’t marry a penis. So then I try to listen to Tias who say, “you have to date a certain kind of man if you want to marry!” And it turns out he has to be even more of a Basic Bitch than you. Which sounds horrific. And then there’s the managing of the household. And his dirty laundry. And his addiction to playing video games. And his desire to have children but not bear them. Ug. Yuck. OK. So that’s why I’m not married.

So…what gives? Why do I STILL want to get married so badly?

Perhaps it has something to do with being validated, not just by one member of the opposite sex, but by a whole community.

“Hooray! She finally got someone to tolerate her Isms on a daily basis!” (what’s an “Ism,” by the way? It’s whatever cult I subscribe to: communIsm, feminIsm, racIsm. The Isms can intersect as well).

“Finally. Now we don’t have to worry about her living alone in a one-bedroom apartment in New York City where she will get raped or mugged or accidentally leave the gas on and blow herself up.”

“Now we can trust her with our husbands!”

“Now we can whine WITH her about the loss of freedom to be and say anything!”

The end.