My Record Cake Collection

Why Aren’t You Seeing Anybody

I’m asked on a fairly regular basis why I’m single. I laugh it off and tell people that I enjoy being a unicorn. I’m 29, in the South, never married and I’m nobody’s baby mama.

Sure I have a (very) few friends that are (at least publicly) happily married. I don’t begrudge them their married smugness, but even the happiest couples I know sometimes look at me with longing in their eyes as I discuss the latest episode of “The Nights of My Life”. I don’t pretend that the events that transpire between the hours of 8 p.m. and 3 a.m. are the axes by which the Earth turns, but for some reason my life seems to be a never ending source of entertainment for the masses.

I enjoy the freedom that my life has right now. It’s not just the going out, it’s the staying in, it’s knowing that I don’t have to cook if I don’t want to eat. I’m not worried about doing the laundry so somebody else has clean underwear to wear to work tomorrow. I don’t think that everybody who has succumbed to domestic bliss is wrong for doing so, it’s just not where I’m supposed to be right now. At some point I’m sure I’ll meet a guy and I’ll be excited about his ex-wife (and kids) and you may even get a phone call when I get a pesky stain out of a shirt, but it’s not happening any time soon, compadre. And why would I want to? Do you have any idea what’s out there for single women right now? That’s an entirely separate blog.

One day I’ll meet a guy without a popped collar, that indulges my Dallas Cowboys habit, is smart and has a sense of humor, goes with me to listen to live music, enjoys everything from indie rock to county, knows how to get me to stop talking when I’m nervous, makes an effort to hang out with my friends after I’ve spent time with his, likes to travel just for the sake of traveling and doesn’t get mad at me for planning vacations, helps me clean up after I cook, kills bugs for me, likes it when I sing, thinks it’s amazing that I want to go to Africa, isn’t completely afraid to dance in public, knows not to pour the coffee before it’s done brewing, can handle himself when he’s drinking, knows something about red wine, doesn’t beg me to sleep with him when I say no, will just lay in bed with me at night and read and would rather lay on a bed of needles rather than ever break my heart. Until then, I’m happy working on my life and not doing some other random guy’s laundry.

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