To All Independent Women Who Are Able To Do Everything A Boyfriend Can’t

Attention world: I am that new wave of women. That independent, don’t need no man. You know, that Girl Ne-yo pens songs about. Do you see how I am clapping MY hands in time with MY words? That is how independent I am. When all of my friends spend their Friday nights cozied up and Netflixed next to their boo things I’m out there IN THE REAL WORLD, doing me as, If I could do anything else.

I almost feel bad for all the men and women out there who have fallen victim to relationships. These poor souls are trapped spending countless hours supporting each other, falling asleep together, and helping one another get past their insecurities with love and respect. It’s like CAN I LIVE!?

Everyone should know the liberation that accompanies spending the day with your one and only, your ride or die, that person looking back at you from the mirror. I don’t have to worry about showing up on time or saying the wrong thing, I’ve ALWAYS got my back, and can your boyfriend say that?

Sure, you guys go to the movies, but HELLO so do I. Just turn around next time you see that box-office smash on those “date” nights. I don’t let big movie lobbyist tell me how to see MY movie. I’m there in my best outfit and winged eyeliner. I don’t even have to worry about popcorn because I am impressed by my ravenous appetite; it mirrors my zest for life.

I don’t let my solidarity end at the box office; I take it with me to a candle-lit dinner at my favorite Bistro. I coyly order myself a cup of their finest red (I know white give me headaches, I REALLY listen, you know) and order for myself, the petite filet, medium rare just how I like it. I see all the slaves of companionship around me, exchanging glances and sharing desserts. I see them slowly suffocating as their individuality meshes with this counterpart who enjoys spending their hours just in their company. I see this all as I devour my single serving of bread pudding. The waiter informs me that this is a rather large desert, but I scoff at his uncertainty and tackle that chocolate fucker like the strong female lead that I am.

With my appetite satiated I move on to my next assertion of independence, a little something to burn off that dinner, if you know what I mean. A few laps around that winter essential – a leisurely skate around a commercially frozen pond hand-in-hand with my own… well, hands. I whip past these amateurs weighed down by significant others. Let me tell you, trapped in his warm embrace gets you there in twice the time, honey. Just look at me gliding across the glass like a goddamn American patriot who clings to no one as I prance on the ice in my magnificent solo. I look on as these lovers blindly slide by unaware of the shackles chaining them to one another. I see the emperor’s bare ass and I know these saps subconsciously pine for that what I have. I giggle with superiority as I take my thirtieth lap and decided it’s time to walk myself home.

And then I masturbate and cry in the shower because I’m independent.

It is totally not because I’m lonely.