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To Everyone Out There Looking Out For Me: I'm Single, Not Dying Cover

To Everyone Out There Looking Out For Me: I'm Single, Not Dying

I've been single for two long years now. Two years only because it hasn't been three years yet. (It's actually two years and eight months. Fuck you for asking.) I'm not sure I even qualify as single anymore. I'm 29. I'm unmarried.

And it isn't the worst thing in the world.

It's okay to go home to no one. It's okay to get a table for one. It's fucking awesome going to the movies alone – blow a kiss, fire a gun, I would rather have both armrests to lean on. I am completely fine being alone. Single. Forever alone. Masturbating. Whatever. It does not suck.

The only time being single sucks, is when I'm told it sucks. And there's plenty of folk who come, tell me it does. Not in those words, but they tell me all right. It's only then that I feel like the worthless, piece of shit they think I am.

Don't be a worthless piece of shit who can't land girls, man.”"Don't be a worthless piece of shit who can't land girls, man.”

In your late twenties (not early thirties yet, shut up), you eventually become everyone's pity project. I know this, because everyone I know is looking out for me. It started with my father, my own flesh and blood, when we had this conversation over a year ago:

Do you have a girl, guy?”
“Not right now.”
“Don't worry. We'll find you someone.”

Holy shit. My father volunteered to find me the pussy I can't find myself. Fuck. My. Pitiful. Life.
(Luckily, for me, my family doesn't follow through on anything they say.)

(l-r) Pussy-magnet in training. Pussy magnate.(l-r) Pussy-magnet in training. Pussy magnate.

So it began. The house-pity-party is now the Mardi Gras of pity. Everyone's feeling me, bro. It's a parade of: “You're pretty okay, man.” “I'll introduce you to my social worker friend.” “You'll find someone fantastic, I just know it.” “Don't be so picky.” “How's the ex?” “Don't you fuck?”

Knowing full well that 'fuck you' is never a good response to any of this, fuck all of you. Why is it not a good response? Because the 'fuck you' is always followed by:

This is why you're single.”

And deep down inside I know it's true. I'm not really making the effort. I'm not really putting myself out there. To some extent, I think, all the self-deprecatory jokes, all the defensive 'I want to be single' statements, have made me a little too accepting of it.

But I wallow in self-pity digress. Being single kicks ass.

Smile because it happened. Smile because it happened.

I am the kebab mein haddi, the third wheel, the crowd. Don't be awkward at dinner with me. It's just a dinner. That fourth empty chair is not my handicap. It's for your many, many bags of shopping. What's with all the shopping anyway? Oh. Nice ring.

Only blessings, no gifts.” Of course.

Weddings, man. I have six to go to this winter. And I've already suffered three this year. At the last one, a destination wedding, I was the only person who didn't have anyone, ANYONE, to share a room with. Couples, and BFFs and their high-school/college-cliques, man. Anyway, a room to yourself isn't such a bad thing, right? I've watched Wedding Crashers. Opportunity! Knocks! The other side doesn't know me yet.

They stuck me with the priest.

We shared a bed, even watched a movie together. I paid for room service (Most marriage I've ever had).“I'll see you at your wedding. Ha ha ha.” No, Father.

Such abstinence. Much vow. Such abstinence. Much vow.

(Post-publishing edit: I now have seven weddings to go to.)

Of the seven weddings I will be attending, six are <3 marriages. The seventh is this joke:

“She said yes.”
“I'm getting married.”
“But um, weren't you single like a month ago?”
“She said yes.”

She said yes. After two meetings – one with the family, and one 'intimate' coffee date, they're getting married. Crazy, right? But, then I saw her face... and I'm a believer.

I'll give my friend this: He's marrying hot. Hot enough to make me wonder “Why the fuck not, Aunty Thelma – I'll meet the cute EA to the CEO from Orlem”.

Calm down, I won't. All the Platinum Love Band ads in the world won't change my mind. I'm a wuss who'd rather fall for someone. No 'arrangements'. The objective to meeting someone cannot be 'what if'. Plus, I will not give anyone the satisfaction of “Hey, I introduced you guys.”

I know, I know, at this rate, I'll die alone for sure. Epitaph – You told me so. Will reading – “Fuck all of you.”

See, I don't care that I'm single. It really does not matter to me, which is why it should absolutely not matter to you. Sure, everyone's getting married. It affects me too! But I'll take my time. Even if “The good ones will all be taken.” I'll just wait for the first batch of divorcees. To them, I won't be unmarried. I'll be the catch.

Divorcees see me rollin'. They lovin'.Divorcees see me rollin'. They lovin'.

Till then, I'll just watch the Indian versions of Netflix, and chill.

tl;dr: I'm single, and I don't really mind it. But everyone else does.


By Dominic S.
Cover image/thumbnail source: Bachelorr's Ice Cream