“So, have you found anyone yet?”
It was a question from my coworker whom I’d just met.
“What does that mean?” I asked her.
She found it difficult to believe I was still single. I told her to believe it, because I am very, very single.
“That’s good,” she said. “Wait until you’re like, almost 30 and then settle down.”
Aside from the fact that I’ll be 30 in four months, I don’t understand why coupled people think that being single is a life decision.
My coworker — who has four kids with her boyfriend and lives in his parents’ basement — was suggesting that once I blow out the candles on my 30th birthday cake, I finally say, “yes” to all of those men that have proposed to me.
Oh wait, there are none.
A few days later, I was taking out the trash with my boss. We were talking about furniture we’ve obtained over the years (riveting, I know), which naturally led to the fact that I’m single.
“Are you ever going to settle down?” she asked me.
What the hell? While I don’t have a boyfriend, it’s not like I’m running the streets naked. If I were, perhaps I’d actually have sex more than twice a year.
It’s not as if I wakeup everyday and remind myself to put off a relationship.
In fact, I really feel ready for something serious. But I haven’t found someone to join me in that venture, yet.
“I don’t think that’s a question I can answer,” I told her. “What if I don’t find someone?”
The look on her face was one of terror.
“Don’t say that!” she said.
I wasn’t trying to be outrageous, it was just a fact. There’s some sort of percentage out there that will prove my point: finding a match isn’t easy.
While my boss nor my coworker said it outright, there was a tone in their questions that rubbed me the wrong way.
What’s so terrible about being single? These women acted like me being on my own was the worst possible thing that could happen to me.
I don’t dream of being single forever. After all, I want someone to share things with, to talk to, and to fall asleep next to.
But I can’t just walk out my front door and expect to find the man of my dreams on one knee (if it were only that easy).
Instead, I’m going to work on a social campaign that outlaws coupled folks to ask singletons about their singleness. Frankly, it’s rude and no one’s business.
No matter how many sexy details I reveal on my blog or through this column, stop asking me why I’m single or why I don’t have kids yet.
It’s a collection of questions I don’t have answers for, and for about three seconds, it makes me question my self worth.
That’s the thing about singletons: we know we’re worth more than dating just to date.
If there’s one thing that’s sadder than being single, it’s settling. And I refuse to do it.