Let’s get down to it. We will call it singletude. I will define this as the posture I take quite often; it bubbles up and represents on numerous occasions. Even when I don’t intend it to and accidentally stank eye all the happy couples that pass by me. What can I say? People have always told me I say it, (or use aggressive non-verbals) like it is.
I exhibit singletude when some Pollyanna with a big smile, says to me: “Andrea, don’t settle. There are plenty of fish in the sea.” And then I go online to find said fish. Some shirtless unkempt-bearded hipster drinking a really cheap beer pops up, and he’s proudly displaying a cat that’s simultaneously drinking out of his martini glass. *This is based on a true story* It’s not enough that this event occurred, but this weenis took a selfie of it. Then he proceeded to title it: Must love cats. I can’t stand cats actually. They walk in their own shitbox and then gracefully pounce on your countertops, and face while you’re asleep, with their mega-fece paws. (No ho-ffense to my friends who love the felines.) But oh, hell no! Toxoplasmosis is real, people.
When I hear women complaining about how their husband went out with his friends and came home drunk…I have a slight bout of singletude and think: at least they came home. There are some of us who don’t have anyone coming home to us, inebriated or otherwise. In fact, we come home and have to mow our lawn, fix the sink and change the oil on our car. All that before making our carb-conscious dinner, and talking to our mothers for 20 minutes.
I am actually grateful my mom calls me. If she didn’t perform these welfare checks, I probably wouldn’t have any form of human interaction after 8pm daily.
My singletude is subdued when people look me in the eyes and say: “Dating is so hard nowadays, I wouldn’t want to do it!” I think that’s right, bitch. R-e-s-p-e-c-t. It’s about that time, I feel like Rocky running up those steps, sportin’ that amazing matching sweatsuit. There’s a small part of me that wonders if this person ever had a moment when they asked themselves if they’re as happy as they could be, in their own relationship. Maybe they’re just saying they know it’s hard, in order to express empathy. People really are good that way. But what if they’re saying it to me because some part of them has entertained the idea that they could be happier in another relationship… but realistically, they know they’d never risk being in an ocean of homely sharks with snaggletooths.
On that note, my next post is going to be about dental hygiene. Seriously important y’all. My current date requirements: un-married, cute (in the light), job, car, not-an-alcoholic and no oral necrosis.
Someone with this condition kissed me before. He had an east-coast accent, which I love. But when he (100%) leaned into me, I thought his rotting teeth might just fall into mine. My mom and dad invested a lot of money on my (recently defunct) teeth! [See my other post titled: Dental work for details] I responded with an immediate closed-mouth. Thank God for survival instincts. *Unfortunately, another true story
Bringing it full-circle…I am working on a cure for singletude. As I’m sure many of us are: Mayo, Race For the Cure, American Heart Assoc, and so forth. I don’t think it’s necessarily finding someone. We could do that, if that’s all we wanted. We could have a warm body any old day. But we don’t just want someone – we want a partner. In crime, in life; someone right next to us in the trenches on the daily. A beautiful person who can make us laugh, and hold us when we cry.
I have been working on this cure for awhile and I have a hunch. I think it starts by focusing on loving ourselves so much that we just attract our respective partner in crime. They’re drawn to us like a magnet because we’re busy lookin’ fierce and fly. So busy, we barely notice them trying to get next to us. And if need be, I’ve always liked the line, fake it ’til you make it!
I’m going to try this out for the weekend. I’m going to practice Fierce Flyness. I’ll master it until some bearded shirtless freak walks up to me and asks me to pet his cat. Then I’m going to bitch-slap him and run like hell.
• Keep on keepin on. Life’s a garden, dig it. • Joe Dirt