I also don't have a Gucci bag

I never owned a pair of Girbaud jeans. Or K Swiss tennis shoes.

But in seventh grade I did believe that those labels would have changed my life.

Seems to me that we learn from a young age that labels, either on our clothing or ones that define who we are make all the difference. As we get older, they become more and more important.

There are the labels we give ourselves; mine include student, teacher, server, loud, music lover, writer, poet, and glutton for punishment. Then there are the ones other people give us, which may be even more accurate than the ones we attribute to ourselves.

Our jobs become labels. Our political beliefs, our religious affiliation, our cultural backgrounds, and our relationship status.

Oh, the relationship status. The social networking sites have this down to a science. You can be one of the following:

Single (Simple enough)

In a relationship (Romantic relationship is assumed)

Engaged (Naturally follows the previous)

Married (Again, progression)

It’s complicated (Aren’t they all?)

In an open relationship (Apparently these people get theirs and yours too)

Widowed (A leap really, since there’s no divorced option).

What if we don’t consider ourselves any of these? Single implies that you’d rather not be; the relationship ones, well they all use that R word which while sometimes can feel like a down comforter on a January night, can also feel like a jumpsuit made out of hair on an August day in Texas. There should be more categories, for those of use who disdain the black and white nature of relationship or not and prefer to live in gray. I propose the following:

In Love (Simple. At least it is to me)

Okay the way things are (The world isn’t ideal, but you’ve come to terms with it)

Waiting for it (Life gets in the way. Some things are worth waiting for)

Seeing how things grow (Same as waiting only with nourishment)

On hold indefinitely (Typically a one sided waiting)

Having my cake and eating it too (Dating enthusiastically)

Considering the nunnery (Damaged goods)

Holding out for my backup (Mine happens at 40)

Happy (Could be with someone, or without. Doesn’t matter, they just are)

Maybe I’ve got it all wrong.

Maybe gray doesn’t actually exist. It could be a lie I’m telling myself, like the words I make up when the ones in the dictionary don’t seem to fit what I’m trying to say.

Then again, those words though they have no definitions by society’s standards, always manage to get my point across effectively to anyone hearing them.

I’m hoping the same goes for gray.