As I was growing up, especially during those formative years of middle and high school, I never understood why I did not have a “boyfriend.” (If you can even call those middle school dances of awkward mandatory three feet gaps actual dates.) A few moments stuck out for me in those beginning days and had younger me thinking I would be sad and alone ... dun …dun …. dun ... forever.
In second grade the guy I was crushing on told my friends that I was too smart for him. At 14, a friend of my parents told me I would make some man very happy one day, ogling the curves I developed relatively early. The first guy I found myself infatuated by in high school said he wanted to be with me, but then decided to ghost me before ghosting was even a thing and hook up with his exes. The guy I fell hardest for in my life told me he could see himself married to me, just not in the present, but once he had “gotten the crazy out of his system.” As if I was just going to wait at a fence for him to come back and love me like the loyal dog I am assumed to be.
People, in addition to my loving parents, constantly tell me I am worth something, and as a self-proclaimed awkward teenager, I never grasped why I was so highly complimented but never felt desired like the rest of my female friends. I watched some of my friends be pursued by multiple guys at once, instantly flocked to at parties or perpetually a participant of a happy relationship. Being a third, fifth or even seventh wheel is a skill of mine, and it was not until I started cracking jokes about contentedly getting cats and flirting with guys four years (plus) older than me and focused on their futures that I realized being designated as wifey material is a flattering blessing, not the curse I had once conceived it as.
According to Urban Dictionary, wifey material is: “a phrase often used to describe a girl whom you feel possesses certain qualities that qualifies her to be a model wife for you, i.e. kind, sweet, caring, and compassionate.”; therefore, it is most definitely a compliment by our society’s standards. I realized that not being wanted by the typical crowd is OK, because I am not what society deems normal for a 20-year-old college female. I love my bread machine, only enjoy makeup every once in a while, knitting is fun for me even if I do suck at it, and I am quite set in my love of Jesus; I am a no-mess, hardworking, soon-to-be college junior who takes pride in what I do. I am a walking anomaly, and that is perfectly OK. Being wifey material means people view me as a long term investment, not some quick thrill to be had. Older guys want to wine (metaphorically of course) and dine me because I embrace the chance to be more intelligent, as well as credit myself as having some common sense. The joke in my family is that I was an adult by 12. As wifey material, I am also viewed as the type of person someone wants to take home to their family, and as a little sister to a pretty cool big brother, I know the scrutiny that being brought home entails since I have been on the scrutinizing end.
As men and women end their college years, settling down and raising a family begins to take precedence in our list of goals. I do not know many people who want to marry the crazy drunk person who lost their shoes every weekend and barely experienced any personal growth. They want to marry the person who faced their own demons and is willing to keep charging whatever comes at them in the future. I realized that by being sure of myself, I have always been a bit terrifying. But now, I am being sought after for the confidence I do have. I love being wifey material now because real men want me for the quirky person that I am. The man I want to spend every morning waking up next to is on the hunt for me somewhere, but until that point in time when I collide ungracefully into him, I am perfectly content to pick out cats knowing that I am worthwhile.
