Ok, I believe in redemption

This is a man you'll forgive and forgive,
And help and protect, as long as you live . . .

He will not always say
What you would have him say,
But now and then he'll say
Something wonderful!

The thoughtless things he'll do
Will hurt and worry you
Then all at once he'll do
Something wonderful!

. . . A man who needs your love
Can be wonderful.

Rodgers and Hammerstein's The King and I, "Something Wonderful"

Just wanted to express my gratitude for a few signs of hope this week. It makes it easier to believe my Someone is searching for me when I see other men searching too.

Men!

But I can't spell it out for you,
No, it's never gonna be that simple.
No, I can't spell it out for you.

Colbie Caillat, "Realize"

As a single girl, every once in a while I get little glimpses into the single male psyche in regards to love and dating. Sometimes it's touching, surprising, and inspiring. Other times, like the instance prompting this article, it's confusing and extremely frustrating.

Guys: Ask. Girls. On. Dates.

"It's not that simple," whines the collective male spirit.

It's not that complicated either.

I'm frustrated for all the times I looked at a handsome, upstanding young man and thought that if he really knew me, if he could open his eyes and just SEE me, for crying out loud, he would realize that we'd be beautiful together. I'm frustrated for all the time spent carefully conversing with a guy, making him laugh, asking him questions, listening attentively, talking more about him than about me, only to be rewarded with nothing, nothing, nothing for my efforts. A date isn't a random act of kindness, guys; it's repayment, and I feel surrounded by debtors.

Thoughts During a Five-Day Babysit

It doesn't come easy to me,
this talking to kids who are three.
Or getting no thanks for putting them first.
I guiltily long to be free.

I put little Zoey to bed,
left stories and songs in her head.
The door is half open, the hall light is on.
I flop on the ground. I am dead.

A plaintive voice sounds in the hall.
It's Isaak's turn now, after all.
Resentment and guilt weigh me down, pull me up,
and into his bedroom I crawl.

As I read him The Cat in the Hat
in my heart I am terrified that
someday I'll read this to a son of my own
loathing the work I begat.

I tell myself it's not a sign
of how I'd feel if they were mine.
But this practice motherhood's lonely and dreary,
and being a good mom is still just a theory,
I can't even think straight, I'm dirty and weary;
This has to be something divine

because otherwise nobody in their right minds would ever do it.

Getting a Drink in Bath

I was looking through my pictures of Bath to finally get a slideshow set up for my travelblog (check it out!) and came across this picture. I had this article in mind when I took it. It's a statue that was set up by the Temperance Society of Bath during Victorian times, and its caption reads, "Water is Best."

I found this terribly funny because at the time I had been on my feet for hours and hours, was very thirsty, and knew very well that water is harder to come by than alcohol here. There are no public drinking fountains in Bath (or in most of England). Bath is famous for its water, but not the drinkable kind; the vile-tasting, minerally, hot springs kind. For 50p you can get a glass of it at the Pumphouse next to the old Roman Baths.

I didn't realize this when I set out on my first day of adventure in Bath, sans water bottle. I tried to hit all the guided tours and just thought there'd be drinking fountains in the public, touristy places. When I never saw one, I headed back to my hotel. There was a sink in my room, so I figured I'd just have to head back there to get some of the tap water a couple times a day. There were cups in the tray next to the sink, so I filled one up and took a sip - and promptly spat it back out. It was disgusting. Tap water was out.

I remembered that I'd seen some fancified bottled water on my refreshment tray. Two bottles of "mineral water," one "sparkling" and the other "still." I knew I'd tried sparkling mineral water and hated it, but what on earth was the still kind? Why would they posh up the bottle for plain old regular water? I shrugged and opened the bottle, took a swig, and hooray, it tasted like nothing!

They only replaced that bottle once a day, and it was only a couple glasses' worth, so the rest of my water I got from restaurants where I went to have lunch and dinner. That's where I discovered how much more waiters prefer that you order an alcoholic beverage than anything else. Order water in America and some waiters will give you the impression that you're a cheapskate, but in England they think you might be insane. Then they bring it to you in a fancy bottle and charge you pretty much the same as a glass of wine for it, or they'll bring it in a glass, still charge for it, and you have to tackle a waiter to ask for a refill.

In between meals, I went thirsty, which made it harder to walk around seeing the sights. If you ever go to Bath, stock up on water wherever you can find it. Carry water bottles in your purse/backpack! Then you won't be tempted like I was to climb up this statue and put your mouth to the girl's ewer.