A new guest post from the witty Tara Merry! This one had me laughing out loud. - Bella
I had an unsettling realization a few weeks ago. I discovered that my grandmother has given up on me. I don’t mean this in a bad way; I guess if I really think about it, this might be a good thing. I have finally dropped from my spot as golden granddaughter to just Tara.
My grandmother; the woman who has spent my entire life teaching me to knit and bake for my future family, the woman who once told me that I should always do my hair before I leave the house because I never know when I will meet my husband. She has finally looked at me with love and said ‘umm, maybe there is no future husband?’
It started about a month ago; I had just broken up with my long term boyfriend and called my grandmother to tell her that the wedding was off. I should probably point out that I wasn’t actually engaged at any point, but mere technicalities have ever stopped anyone in my family from planning a party.
My grandmother’s automatic response was to console me by saying that I could always go back to ‘that nice boy you used to date in high school’.
Side note: My grandmother never got the chance to meet the nice boy from high school, which was probably a good thing because he has a pretty serious drug problem and doesn’t like to wear a shirt. But damn, does he know how to take a wholesome Facebook photo.
I told my Nan that I was planning to stay single for a while, adding ‘it’s ok; I’m an independent woman… Just like Destiny’s Child used to sing about’. My grandmother cautioned me not to be too independent, unless I want to end up ‘with all those cats’ like my great aunt – six cats isn’t THAT many, right? As I hung up the phone I breathed a sigh of relief, it seemed like I had gotten off without a lecture on the dangers of becoming a spinster.

A few weeks later I was speaking to her again, this time about my love for Michael Bublé and how sad it was that he had a wife. She asked me how old his wife was and whether or not they had any children - If she wasn’t getting any children from me, she will be damned if she doesn’t get some great grandchildren-in-law from my fantasy husband, Michael.
My searches told me that Michael’s wife was 24 with no children. Wow, I’m 24 with no children! Am I secretly Michael Bublé’s wife?
No.
But wouldn’t that be an exciting M Night Shyamalan twist to this blog?
I told my grandmother that if only I had met him first I would definitely be married by now, since he was obviously looking for a lady in my age bracket. To which I was told, ‘Well you never know, you might meet him backstage after a concert and he will invite you back to his hotel room’.
‘Well I would say, Michael! I’m not that type of lady!’ I was proud of myself, it’s not easy to show restraint when an imaginary celebrity is inviting you back to his hotel room. ‘Well I don’t know Tara, he is REALLY rich…’ Wow, my grandmother was encouraging me to have an imaginary affair? Is this really happening? The woman who goes to church every Sunday to try find me a ‘Nice Catholic boy from the Bays’ is encouraging me to have steal another woman’s husband?
I may not have incredibly strong morals, but I like my men like I like my ice cream… Single (serve). Yeah that didn’t really work; I think I was thinking of soft serve. But you know when you buy ice cream and ask for only one scoop? I’m assuming that those in the ice cream business call that single serve and that’s how I like my men.
I knew that I had really turned a corner in my life when she continued on her tangent by saying ‘it’s not as if they have any children yet’. ‘Well you know what they say, no kids, no problem’ I laughed then immediately regretted it. I imagined my grandmother repeating this phrase, coined by her ‘independent granddaughter’ to all her friends. The moment my apparent lack of marriage morals moved through the Bay’s I would have a boyfriend in no time… although he might also have a wife.
So here I am. I am 24 and single, with a grandmother who has FINALLY given up on the dream of me holding a baby in one hand and a white picket fence in the other. And you know what? I couldn’t be happier.

Tara Merry was born and raised in New Zealand, a country commonly referred to as 'next to Australia'. From the moment she could walk she has been trying to escape from her unnecessarily tightknit beach-side community, affectionately described as ‘The Bays’. Now that she’s run away from her hometown and escaped the stigma of being a ‘Bay girl’ she’s hell bent on kissing as many frogs as possible - before midnight strikes and she turns back into a pumpkin.
You can find Tara's blog here:
Who Needs Happily Ever After