Reasons Why Everyone is Engaged But Me: A Sampling

by Meghan Nesmith

I have been on this earth for nearly 30 years and I still don’t know how to accessorize.

Sometimes I lie and tell the dry cleaner that a dress is “just a really long shirt” so they’ll charge me $3.75 instead of $10.

Last week I went four (4) days without showering.

I thought being loved would save me.

I am still riding the waves of goodwill I felt when I gave $20 to the beautiful boy who plays violin in my subway station. This was, like, eight months ago.

I keep saying I’m a vegetarian but a couple of weeks ago in Texas I ate some BBQ chicken and really enjoyed every bite.

I once contemplated throwing a brick through the apartment window of the girl my boyfriend was cheating on me with. Like, kind of planned where I’d get the brick and also what time of night would be best.

I cannot toast nuts without burning them.

There are a lot of old classic films, like ones by Hitchcock or whatever, that I always claim to have seen when they come up in casual conversation. If someone asks me to recount a particular scene I say, “God, you know, I saw it so long ago…” and then wait for someone else to chime in, at which point I nod emphatically.

I claim to want to be a writer, to love the art above myself, to bleed for the words, but when it comes down to it I’d really rather watch Pitch Perfect in bed.

I never understood how people always remembered the date of Cinco de Mayo. Such an obscure holiday, I thought. This went on until two years ago.

I eat too much cheese.

I order Manhattans all smooth at the bar, with a smile, and I literally have no idea what’s in them.

My mom still thinks I got my first period about a year after I actually did because I lied about it. I’m sorry, mom.

I have loved more than one person at the same time with a folly and greed that now takes my breath away.

My short hair.

Photo via stopdown/flickr.

Meghan Nesmith writes and sleeps in Brooklyn.