I've reached that age. All my wild, organic, artsy, Dionysian, don't fence-me-in, gyrating under the light of a full-moon, can't ever dream of settling-down friends are doing just that - halter and bridle. Colleagues, acquaintances, and even my kid sister(who, btw, is ten years younger, but hey, who's counting?) are tying the knot.
Not that I begrudge them their oaths, not at all. I'm a double-Gemini: too capricious to commit.
I could blame it on witchcraft.
When I was nineteen and visiting my football-player boyfriend on scholarship in West Georgia, a paper-skinned woman with a necklace of gator teeth jangled up to me in the Lost In Time Cafe in Cassadaga, Florida, and floated a molasses-hued hand to my head like it was the most natural gesture.
"You are of two minds," she said. "Honey, don't rush headlong into marriage."
Gracious, if that ain't enough to spook a girl from the chapel, then I don't know what.
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