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You know, I'm not a mother and never plan to be one, but I'm starting to feel downright maternal and protective toward all those fertile young twenty-somethings that Ross and his ilk claim so highly prize. Somehow becoming the reproductive vessels of such Sensitive New-Age Guys and bearing little carbon copies of them seems like a terrible price to pay for that nice shiny bit of finger bling and an MRS degree.
And I have to say that if I weren't already married (to a nifty guy who doesn't want to breed and doesn't care about my sell-by date), I'd definitely prefer singlehood over the Type-A narcissists Dowd seems to think are the only eligible men in the world.
Poor Maureen. She apparently doesn't think she can do any better. Who the hell would want to marry a New York uberhack? I'd go into a convent first.
