"I Don't Want No Scrub..."

So, I come home the other day and I am utterly horrified and embarrassed to find this in my mailbox: 

Yeah. That's right.  I seriously got pegged with a singles flyer.  A direct mailing and not some internet ad.  So I come in the house and I am thinking to myself, "Sweet Jesus.  Is this what rock bottom feels like? How did they find me? How did I get on this list!"  Basically,  I am standing in my kitchen dying a small death on the inside... 

...And then I turn the card over.  Sweet baby Jesus it was addressed to my neighbor and clearly put in my mailbox by mistake! 

At first I was relieved, but then I was super offended. I mean, Neighbor Pete was arrested for murder last year.  Murder people! I mean, I guess it's still alleged at this time....pending trial and all. (Note: I don't live in the ghetto, this is just a weird "All My Children" story-line that seriously occurred in real life -- basic love triangle, mistress and lover [Neighbor Pete] are just trying to be together and set mistress's husband's house on fire oops her husband just happened to be found dead in his burned up house.)  Anyway, this basically ends up bringing several concerns to the forefront of the "Single Gal Worries" section of my brain: 

• Why is neighbor Pete getting this mailer instead of me? He is clearly a murdering Scrub. Or rather, a Scrub suspected of murder.
• I will obviously be doing background checks on potential mates...which could get costly.
• I need to start praying harder to Little Baby Jesus if I am going to find someone to "put a ring on it" that's worth a damn. 
• Life isn't like all those songs Taylor Swift keeps releasing. What a liar. 

I'll be pondering these questions and more this week while I am busy putting down 32 miles over 3 days for the start of another really hard training block for the marathon with The Housewife.  I would complain, but I am pretty enthusiastic about the post break-up work outs I now have time for because I love to get "revenge hot".  And this time I mean business. It's not that I wasn't completely fabulous before, but I am seriously in the throes of getting Kate-Middleton-I-Told-You-Prince-Will-That-You-Would-Come-Crawling-Back revenge hot.  I figure running 19 miles on Saturday has got to have some sort of lasting benefit. 

Love you. Mean it. 

~the single gal~