I Have Iraq in My Shoe Read Online Free Page A

thirties, but nothing earth-shattering. I wasn’t bitter, I wasn’t jaded, but I also wasn’t going to settle, and I would save anything in print that validated that stance. While some girls were clipping pages from bridal magazines, I saved Tish Durkin’s 2005 article in
O
about “holding out for real love”:
    …Thus I was always defending myself against the peculiar charge, leveled more frequently and frankly with each passing year, of insisting upon love as a prerequisite for marriage. And not sensible, better-than-nothing, he-respects-me love, either. I wanted great, big, core-connecting, fate-fulfilling, gotta-have-it earthquake love or a lifetime supply of soup for one…
    Preach! I had attended at least two weddings that could have been mistaken for funerals and knew countless couples who I was certain were together more out of convenience than actual, genuine affection. I had friends who endured numerous awkward evenings of blind dates, and even more painful second and third dates, in the hopes something would work out and they would get to wave a big, shiny diamond around and excitedly chirp, “I’m engaged!”
    It wasn’t necessarily that I didn’t want the big, shiny diamond (jewelry is fun) or the excited chirping (enthusiasm is always good), but I was bound and determined to have it be the real deal. As I reread Durkin’s article, I sprouted goose bumps. She had met her “great, glove-fitting love” in Iraq.
    I made the ridiculously incongruous mental leap to understand this meant all the tall, gorgeous, brilliant, and hilarious soul mates who had been mysteriously evading me must be clustered in some sort of Hot Man/Glove-Fitting Love Warehouse in the middle of Iraq. WMD didn’t stand for Weapons of Mass Destruction. It was the Warehouse of Men we’ve hidden from you in the Desert.
    I thought,
Oh, now, wouldn’t that just figure. That I would have to go all the way to Iraq to meet The One?
Like everyone else who searches for metaphysical road signs, I thought maybe the article was at least an alert. Your love alert level is now at orange.
    So that was one more thing to add to my List of Reasons to Go to The Iraq:
Eliminate debt
Travel
Buy shoes (or at least have enough money to do so)
Meet soul mate
    And while we’re at it, I should probably attempt to increase my cultural tolerance of the Middle East, shouldn’t I? They say, “Don’t knock it ’til you try it.”
Who? Who says that?
Probably members of a 1940s barbershop quartet, but it was still a saying that stuck in my head. I had never been to any Middle Eastern country and may have been unfairly judging.
    My new List of Reasons to Go to The Iraq:
Eliminate debt
Travel
Buy shoes
Meet soul mate
Increase cultural tolerance
    While I was busy making lists and imagining a wildly romantic, fateful encounter in Iraq, my mom sent me this email:
    Just want you to be as informed as possible about the cultural challenges for women in Iraq even in Kurdistan.
    Love, Mom
    “Iraqi women—attacked and fighting for a voice
    Iraqi activists are trying to counter the rising influence of religious fundamentalists and tribal chieftains who have insisted that women wear the veil, prevented girls from receiving education and sanctioned killings of women accused of besmirching their family’s honor…”
    This continued in an MSN.com story I decided not to read. I loved the word “besmirching,” but “religious fundamentalists” and “tribal chieftains” were not things I wanted to think about. They would only make me second-guess my decision to go. I was normally not a big fan of ignorance; however, I was a big fan of bliss. The road to bliss went straight through The Iraq, and I would be taking it, apparently in some sort of convoy, while wearing my chain-mail tunic and matching headband.

Chapter Five
    Hockey Bags, Eh?
    The frequency of my phone conversations with Warren increased as March drew closer. I was still feeling apprehensive about such a