I often wonder what it would be like to be entirely independent. Very few ladies are, you know. During our formative years we rely on our mother and father, and then most of us marry and depend on our husbands for a great many tasks. Perhaps that is not quite fair to assert today, but it is still often the case. There are a few of us, however who have not found the match we desire to settle down with. The one who should provide the house and the bread on which we live. And I suppose that in many ways we consider ourselves underpriviledged and oftentimes alone. There are certainly disadvantages to this somewhat unorthodox method, and yet today I find myself feeling somewhat proud of my detachment. There is no one I must turn to in order to have my phaeton repaired, or to reshoe my horse. I cannot send a husband to ascertain an introduction or remit an invitation, but I myself must tend to every intricate or mundane task that must be accomplished in an everyday household.
And even, might I add, speaking of households, today it is I alone who possess it. Yes, dear Diary, I have purchased an estate entirely my own. I walked straight into the house of mortgages and purchased the deed. And while it all sounds very simple and efficient, it is a matter that has taken a great deal of time and persistence. But there is no one but God Himself who has done it for me. I am, as you might say, an independent. Much like the Americans claim to be.
Please understand, dear Diary, that I do not boast in myself for being so--very often, that is. You know as well as I that I should very well like to have purchased the estate with a husband. But it is not often that one can boast in being a maiden, and so I vow it shall be only a single instance that I shall do so this evening. I shall recommence the task of filling the estate with a reasonable suitor on the morrow.
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