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BRANDI JEWETT: Playing house: No thanks, I’m good

My Barbies did a lot of things when I was kid. They cooked magnificent dinners, took limo rides around our yard (taking care to avoid dog poop) and kept baby dinosaurs as pets.

Life was wild in the Jewett household.

But never present among these numerous scenarios were weddings. I think I just assumed Barbie and Ken were always married so there was no need for elaborate ceremonies.

Deep down, I also think my chubby-cheeked toddler self was about as enthralled with the idea of getting married as I am now.

Marriage is great for those who are ready. I am not a card carrying member of that group and likely won’t be for some time.

I’m not avoiding it because I want to gallivant around town and canoodle with boys or because don’t believe in it as an institution. Honestly, it sounds like a pretty nice arrangement. Who doesn’t want to have someone to take out the garbage?

But, I know and accept I am not ready to commit the rest of my existence to someone else right now — though I have family members that think otherwise.

Maybe I will be in five months. Maybe five years. In the meantime, I’ll be fielding the ever-growing inquiries about my plans every time I venture back home.

Adding fuel to the fire is the fact small towns like the one I’m from tend to have very traditional ideas of what life goals should be.

Job? Check.

Marriage? Check.

House? Check.

Babies? Check.

Congratulations, you’ve won the Game of Life.

And then there’s me: A single 24-year-old living in an apartment who is startled by small children.

Quite the catch if I do say so myself. 

Still, the world around me continues to jump on the marriage train and nothing is a starker reminder of this than my social media accounts.

Pictures of people drinking copious amounts of alcohol and committing misdemeanors on my Facebook newsfeed are being replaced with photos of engagements, weddings and babies. Lots and lots of babies.

There are still a few rebels out there. I’m sure you’ve seen the posts that go something like “All my friends are getting married and I’m just trying to figure out what wine I’m drinking tonight.”

Replace “wine” with “ice cream” and you have my life. And I am fine with that.

If I still had Barbies, I’d like to think they’d grab a spoon and join me in a bowl — after they’re done with their limo ride of course.