Friday, March 26, 2010

Marry, Marry, Quite Contrary

I’ve met some desperate girls in my lifetime – girls so bent on getting married they didn’t care how they achieved it. Girls who, to put it bluntly – in the heat of competition – made Cruella De Vill look like Mother Theresa.

I knew one such girl very well. She didn’t start out desperate – in fact she was quite content. Then she met him – the one – and she knew… this was it. Whatever it took.

She obsessed about him. She downloaded his photo off his blog. She printed his personal information. She looked up where he lived. She made strategic plans to “run into” him at “random” times (oh -- is this your driveway? And I thought it was the post office). All the while she pretended to be completely disinterested (she wouldn’t want to appear desperate, after all).

OK… that girl was me.

But this column is not about me. It’s not about my previously content
single years. It’s not about the boy who rehabilitated me from them.

It is about hunting for a spouse. At least, that’s what the Japanese are calling it. According to several news sites, one Japanese school is offering advice on the topic of “spouse hunting”. The classes offered? Walking, talking, and sitting. And I thought we learned those in pre-school…

I’m thinking I could do better than the school. After all, my methods are proven. (Not to mention I would come down on the price from about $2200 per student, to $2100.99 per student.)

Interested parties: contact me. Class opens next Monday morning. Bring your binoculars, surveillance videos, and spy phones.

But leave the gun at home… after all we wouldn’t want to get caught hunting without a license.

B.J. Hamrick is a local writer who can be reached at – unless she’s enjoying time with her hunted one.


Debra Weiss said...

Oh, wow! I'm so glad you posted this, BJ. I feel a ton better about Google mapping people's house, colleges and work places now that I know I'm not alone. *relieved sigh*


Magnolia said...


I know all about waiting--for the right guy, for high school to end, for my boobs to come in (two out of three ain't bad).

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