Why I Might still be an "Old maid

This morning, I stood in my kitchen staring down a single chocolate chip cookie left on the plate. Just one. Homemade, still slightly soft in the middle, golden brown around the edges. The kind of cookie that deserves a moment of silence.

I wasn’t even that hungry. But something about that lastcookie gave me pause. I hovered, hand halfway to the plate, and heard the voice of my childhood—clear as day—whispering:   “Go ahead and take it. You’ll be an old maid.”

There it was. That old Midwestern superstition, popping up like a dandelion in my mind.

Growing up, this was a common refrain at Sunday dinners, school picnics and family functions. The moment someone reached for the final piece of pie, the last roll in the basket, or yes, the one remaining chocolate chip cookie on the plate, someone—usually an older cousin or a smirking aunt—would sing out: “You’re going to be an old maid!” 

It was always said with a teasing grin, but it was like a hex wrapped in sugar. At the time, I didn’t fully understand what it meant. But I knew enough to recoil, blushing, and pretend I hadn’t really wanted it anyway.

From everyone’s hoots of laughter, I learned that an “old maid” was an outdated term for a woman who never married—portrayed, unfairly, as sad, cat-laden, and just plain pitiful. Snatching the last bite of anything was a warning sign. Too eager. Too greedy. Not marriage material.

The pejorative term 'old maid' was first uttered in the late 1690s, when being an unmarried woman doomed you to the poorhouse, or worse—a brothel or nunnery. 

The expression emphasizes the paradox of being old and yet still virginal and unmarried. It died out with the woman’s movement of the early 1970’s, but it’s still out there, trying to haunt me.

It wasn’t until I married a man from the Northeast that I realized this wasn't a universal saying. When I mentioned it to him once—over the last breadstick—he looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. 

“What does that mean?” he asked. Clearly, the curse of spinsterhood had no power over his side of the country.

But in the Midwest, where I grew up, mealtime came with a full side of manners, folklore, and just enough superstition to keep you in line. 

Having lived through famine and blizzard, two divorces and the Great Depression, my grandmother knew what it was like to have to navigate this world alone–with no job and seven children to raise.

She taught me not to reach for food before others were served. And you definitely didn’t take the last of anything without checking if anyone else wanted it first. Otherwise… well, you know. The curse fell.

And here’s the funny thing: part of me likes that I still hear those voices. Even though I’m  grown woman, long married, I still hesitate to take the last of anything as if it holds the key to my romantic fate.

So yes, I took the cookie. And no, I’m not worried about curses. I lived single long enough to know that not being married isn’t a tragedy, and taking the last cookie doesn’t make you selfish. It makes you decisive.

Breaking  free from that curse sounds pretty sweet to me.