The Single Person’s Declaration Of Independence
When in the course of human events it becomes necessary for a single person to tirelessly qualify their vague relationships to curious aunts and grandchild-hungry mothers and married friends and nosy coworkers, a decent respect to the opinions of people who can’t mind their goddamn business requires that the single person should declare the reasons why they’re, well… single.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that we’ve put ourselves out there on OkCupid and in bars; that 50 First Dates isn’t just the title of some godawful romcom (JK love it), but something we’ve actually attempted in the pursuit of happiness; that we have been subjected to unanswered text messages, and insane exes, and people who pen really great online dating profiles but turn out to be mute or to hate their mothers in unnatural, character-defining ways; and whenever we’re faced with the prospect of settling down with someone we despise to fulfill the long established expectation that we’re young and attractive but not young and attractive forever so could all you single people get it together and quit sleeping around? — it is our right, our duty, to be like… yo, have you seen the divorce rate lately? I mean, we’re trying our hardest out here to find someone we like enough to introduce to our friends, really we are, this doesn’t make us bad people but rather it makes us discerning people who just haven’t found their ‘missing piece’ yet, to quote Shel Silverstein, — And via this document, we come together to explain our non-relationship status and how like, being single is not akin to being misguided or damaged or some nefarious Hitler-type character. To prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world.
We were, at some point, in unhealthy relationships that we ended in hopes for a better tomorrow — one in which our friends and families do not gossip endlessly about how toxic our relationship is.
We are not sure what we want and are harmlessly trying to figure that out by taking a few cars for a test-drive rather than like, committing to driving a hand-me-down lemon just because it’s available and basically free.
We like sleeping in unconventional formations that make it difficult to share a bed with someone every night.
We are seeing someone we kind of like, but we don’t want to spoil it by discussing it with you, of all people.
We feel that giving birth to a child is probably something we should decide to do because we’re ready and not because you think you might die before you get to see it happen.
Ditto re: marriage.
We are secretly still sleeping with our ex, we didn’t tell you because we knew you’d judge us… see that face you’re making? We knew you’d judge, it’s like you can’t even help it.
Our television viewing habits are kind of off-putting and will only be well-received by a very special person who we have not yet found.
We are waiting for equal marriage rights for every American, we are very socially evolved like that. Also, single.
We are still working on loving ourselves, we feel like that’s important.
We went on a few dates with this one guy who seemed promising, but has sort of faded away without just cause and it’s kind of a sensitive subject.
We have been set up on dates with people who are so painfully wrong for us that it seriously makes us question our friendships with the people who set us up, launching us into a whole new realm of confusion and despair.
We just feel like it right now, okay?
We, therefore, Single People the World Over, do, in the name and by the authority of the good single people who identify as such, solemnly publish and declare, that we are absolved from all your weighty expectations and judgements regarding our less-than-married lifestyles. You should probably just, like, dissolve all of your preemptive ideas about how, when, and why we’re going to settle down. This document, the Single Person’s Declaration of Independence, pretty much requires that you do so. And documents, especially those on the internet, are binding and must be abided by or… else. For the support of this Declaration, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor — until we get married, because we’re pretty sure our spouses get first dibs on our lives and fortunes and stuff and there’s just not enough to spread around. You understand.
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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.