i've never been in therapy, but i've been to the optometrist.
for seven years, my optometrist has kept a record of my life that extends far beyond myopia and into my romantic endeavors. i don't know why. i just know this is how it has always been.
thus, my medical chart is a minefield of romantic disaster, riddled with notations like "wants to be in high school" and "really liked boys." i kind of sort of dreaded going to the optometrist today, because i was going to have to admit that he was right last year and we would officially enter into my medical records that the douche "went away."
after making this notation the optometrist glanced at my paperwork and looked me in the eyes he had yet to examine. "according to your chart," he said, in a slow soft voice- softened further by a cold that had earlier prompted some exceedingly inappropriate smooching jokes-"you have a hard time being single."
as i sat poised before the autorefractor, this seemed a most extraordinary revelation.
"but, you know, i have hope," he went on, as he typed this year's diagnosis into my chart: single for a little while. fabulous forever.