It's like rain on your wedding day...a free ride when you've already paid.

ironic is this:

the day i moved into my apartment as a college freshman i met my across-the-way neighbors, two girls who were quite old.  one was 21 and the other, a returned missionary from Oklahoma, 23.  both single and completely normal.  neither realized the level of her life's despondency.

i thought then that if i got to 21 and was unmarried, i'd be embarrassed and die.  and, by the way SICK!  who goes to Oklahoma on a mission?  that girl should've stayed home.

three years later, as i opened my own mission call to Oklahoma City, my friend Jeff shrugged and voiced a similar sentiment: "you don't have to go, you know."  i knew that my attitude to the old girl across the hall had come back to bite me in the butt.  

to top off the irony of my 18-year-old know-it-all self, i am thirty and unmarried.  and remarkably unembarrassed.

fast forward a few years and a few singles wards:  Edmond, Philadelphia, Denver, Philadelphia again.  around late-April, early-May enter the Bug Boys into the ward dynamics.  they come in packs of 12, twenty minutes late to sacrament meeting souped up in their flashy ties, flip flops and bleached tips.   you know what i'm talking about.  they're halfway through their summer in your ward right now.  awesome.  i've always been, ahem, bugged by these people.

in the typical pride cycle of my life, i am now the Bug Girl.  i'm selling pest control for my cousin's company in Phoenix.  awesome.

this is why it's a good job for me:  i like walking all over the place, i get to wear a skirt, i talk to interesting people all day, i have a basically undeterrable demeanor, i am learning the names of all sorts of Arizona flowers, and i only have to commit to the job for two months.  perfect.  isn't it ironic?