Posted by Sophie Westrope on April 11, 2013 · 4 Comments
I’VE been flying solo (great hit for Mr Derulo, that one) for all of four months thus far and already an abundance of interest into my new relationship status has come my way. Lots of ‘how’s your love life?’s and plenty of ‘we need to find you a man!’s. And while, of course, I enjoy the constant enquiries and sudden need to attach me to another human being, (no really, thanks, you guys!) I’m getting a little peeved about the whole thing.
I was left bewildered when my Mother, upon returning from my second date with a guy, asked if we were “an item” yet. Either she’s desperate for grandchildren or she’s just trying to get rid of me. Why is everyone so desperate to make me part of a twosome? Am I no good when I don’t come as half of something? Sort of like those multipack one finger Twix bars your parents used to pawn you off with in your lunchbox, that just never tasted quite the same as their double sticked buddy?
Have I not realised how fragile I am and how much constant TLC I really require? Like an orchid will I wither and die without correct care? No, I bloody won’t.. (Well, unless of course my being single results in some dangerous daredevil stunts I would never otherwise attempt but shh, I digress) Everybody just needs to CALM DOWN. Or perhaps I’m too calm and I better start worrying pronto. I better start trawling the results pages of match.com to find my future husband for fear I’ll blink and suddenly have aged in a millisecond from a youthful 21 to a haggard ‘old’ thirty and be confined to a life of blind dates and Bridget Jones-esque diary entries - “When will my very own Mark Darcy come and sweep me off of my feet while I wear ugly pants in the snow?!”
Am I delusional thinking that being ‘single’ is fine? Because having my bed all to myself, being able to be as unshowered and hairy as possible and not having to explain to some buffoon why actually highwaisted trousers are not horrible and do in fact make my butt look awesome doesn’t sound too terrible to me. And while this might all sound like one of those desperate speeches round the table at dinner with the extended family, who won’t stop asking when you’re going to find somebody to settle down with - “I am in fact absolutely happy only eating microwave meals for one and paying substantially more council tax because I’m alone. Honest!” – but I assure you it is not in any way desperate. I am certainly not looking for pity either. Pity me, go on, I dare ya. But be warned, I can throw a pretty mean left hook when I want to, just ask the ex..
All kidding aside people, let’s quit it with trying to couple everybody up. I blame that Noah dude and his stupid Ark. Because sometimes, mate, the animals don’t want to come in two-by-two, hurrah hurrah. They’d prefer to come along skipping and jumping freely, confident and content in the knowledge that they got to eat every single last one of the chocolate fingers without having to share and don’t have to pretend that they’re not repulsed when somebody eats a whole chicken in one sitting before belching loudly and asking for a greasy pawed high five..
Society, I am a single lady and I am fine with it. OKAY?!
(P.S. Enjoy the retro tampon advertisement)
