Prepackaged Responses To The Question, "Why Are You Single?"
Perhaps the most unnecessary question ever uttered, “Why are you single?” has been tolerated by the unattached masses for far too long. You can’t understand why I’m single? Me either! It’s so funny – just last week, someone was whispering, ‘I love you’ in my ear, and now look at me. Single and reluctant to mingle! Because such a question deserves a condescending answer, here are a few for you to memorize and use at your discretion. Enjoy!
I’m too busy with work. I mean I never planned it this way – who does? But I’ve become utterly consumed by my career. There’s nothing I’d rather do after a long, tiresome day of work than… well, work some more. For me, the satisfaction of a job well done is like getting fucked [especially when my paycheck arrives!]. I never have time to socialize, in fact. During my down time… well, I’m watching television and taking naps and hanging out with the same four friends I’ve been glued to for the past fifteen years. Yep, no time for a relationship here! You understand.
I’m shallow. Don’t take this wrong way or anything, but… my preferred sex? They can’t do anything right. I’m hard pressed to find one benefit of being in a relationship. Fucking idiots, the lot of them, and believe me I’d know. Oh, except if they’re smokin’ hot. Smokin’ hot people, such as myself, are evolved and it’d be wrong to lump them in with the rest of the worthless cretins I’m expected to be attracted to… why are you looking at me like that?
I’m an asshole. I’m such an asshole, you know? People actively avoid dating me. Within twenty minutes of being exposed to me, people rightfully assume that my dad was too busy to toss a baseball/my mother didn’t hug me enough/I am the middle child. My distaste for literally everything is so off-putting that even people who are attracted to assholes think I’m terrible. And really, I can’t blame them – but I will, anyway.
I want to be single right now. Even if James Franco walked up to me right now, right this very moment, and asked me on a date, I’d refuse. You know why? Because I love being single. I LooOooOoVe it. It’s all about me right now – I don’t have to ‘check in’ with anyone and I’m not expected to watch the sun rise with a person who loves me for who I am – I don’t even have to have sex! I mean, what more could I want from life? Being single rocks!
I’m picky. Well, there was this one guy… we hit it off and I was just about ready to deactive my online dating profile when he… well, he coughed, you know? This retched, phlegm-ridden hack. And… need I say it? That’s a dealbreaker. If you can’t cough like a civilized human being, how am I supposed to introduce you to my cats? So I ended it, right then and there. Some of my friends say I’m too picky, but I’m not – I just have standards.
I’m a bitch. If it doesn’t affect me on a personal level, it’s irrelevant; that’s my motto. I’m just a god-awful, inconsiderate person and best of all; I’m completely transparent about it. I’m just owning it, or whatever. Those ‘good’ girls? The ones who consider other people’s feelings and are thoughtful, genuine people? They wish they could own it like me. Jealousy’s a bitch, and so am I.
It’s summer. It’s the hottest, sexiest season of the year! Who wants to be in a relationship?! Not this guy. No, summer is for playing the field [although it’s been seven months and counting since the last time I got laid. Not that I’m counting. No, not this guy.] Yeah, I mean, when fall rolls around I’ll probably shack up with my favorite summer babe. Relationships are nice in autumn, yeah? Yeah. Autumn. Relationships in autumn.
I’m heartbroken. Sure, my last relationship ended three years ago, but I’m still healing. How can I trust again? How can I forget the betrayal, the burden of which I wear like a tattered, ill-fitting badge of honor? No – I am unable to love, damaged in unspeakable ways. Even the late Dr. Kevorkian couldn’t take away this pain.
I don’t know. I have no idea why I’m single. It’s hard for me to have an affirmative opinion on that… on anything, really. Try me. Ask me a question, any question at all, and I’ll just sputter ‘I don’t know,’ because I refuse to say anything that may endear or repel you. Unless the answer can be Google’d, my reply will probably be an apathetic admission of spinelessness. I have no backbone, I’m bereft of opinion, I possess zero self-awareness, and I sincerely have no idea why I’m single.
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It started with a right swipe, a little green heart. Tinder of course.
Though I acknowledge and appreciate the differences in human experiences, and while your heartbreak is (and always will be) uniquely and completely your own, I must urge you to consider that I have been where you are.
With his hat cocked back, body tilted away from his cane, and right forefinger pointing directly at his audience, Joseph Ducreux commands the attention of those viewing his self-portrait.
I was born in 1990; he was born in 1973. I’m 23; he just turned 40.