There has been much discussion as to the identity of a possible ‘Mr. Darcy’ in my life. I have heard suggested from various unique sources that he will be from Zambia, Scotland, England, Mexico and any other place I mention no matter how casual the reference. (The original Mr. Darcy never made an appearance while at Chatsworth. Be still my beating heart.)
Mr. T is constantly bringing him up (see previous comments on this blog:P). At work I have coworkers/my boss who update me on any new arrival to my place of work who is male. Age, availability, compatibility and belief systems are duly ignored. Today I was informed that a specific dealer is “single, Angelina”.
A dear, close friend pulled me aside at church the other week and enthusiastically whispered a name in my ear and then looked at me with raised eyebrows. Older ladies inform me after they travel where I need to travel (there was this boy…).
Various ones have informed me that they are praying for me in my hour of need (do I look desperate?!).
Sometimes I get royally ticked. Sometimes I roll my eyes. Sometimes I get up on my soap box. Most often I laugh and thank God people love me enough to care.