7 Times I Have Wanted A Boyfriend (And How I Managed To Survive Without One)

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I am not necessarily a card-carrying feminist who yells “I CAN DO IT ON MY OWN!!!!” when a man tries to open a door for me, but I am also not majoring in an M-R-S degree, nor is it my life’s goal to get married and have babies. I am one of those ladies (I use the term “lady” loosely) who is simply happy not being in a serious relationship with a man. You can call it Daddy Issues, you can call it Man Hating, you can call it whatever you want — but the truth is, I am pretty happy with my life sans-man, and I have yet to meet a guy I’m actually interested in hanging out with for longer than a span of two weeks. However, there have been a handful of times where I wished I did have a serious boyfriend — and here’s why.

1. When I have an itch I can’t reach

And no, I am not talking about that kind of itch. I am talking about a very literal itch, usually placed between my shoulder blades that’s next to impossible to reach.

Solution: Pulled a Jungle Book and wiggled against a wall until it itched no more.

2. When that thing went bump in the night

Living alone has its pros and cons, and one of the main cons is being constantly terrified that strange noises in the middle of the night are actually murderers or burglars who want to also murder you trying to break into your home. They’re usually not, but you never know.

Solution: Slept with a kitchen knife under my pillow until I accidentally cut a hole through my sheets and mattress pad and decided it was unsafe to sleep with a huge kitchen knife under my pillow.

3. When it’s too cold to get up to make coffee or turn the shower on or generally be a human

You know the days. For some reason, your central heating went postal and decided that you should be living at 58 degrees instead of 68, and your wood floors are frigid and rolling out of bed will probably give you frostbite and then you’ll have to get your foot amputated and lord, that is going to be a big ol’ hassle.

Solution: Try to teach your dog how to do these things. When that fails, suck it up and do it yourself. Or stay in bed until the last possible minute, use dry shampoo, and get coffee on your way to work. That’s usually what I wind up doing.

4. When my terrible relative brings up my lack of a boyfriend yet again

What is it about the holidays that turns idiot relatives into bigger assholes than they already are? No, Aunt Judith, I do not have a boyfriend and I am not engaged or pregnant so if you could focus your beady little eyes on making someone else miserable about their life choices that would be great, thanks.

Solution: Alcohol. Lots of it. And there is also the “I’m a lesbian” game. (Good shock factor if you come from a conservative family.)

5. When my apartment looks like a bomb went off and I have no one to blame for myself

Seriously, how does one person do this much damage? It’s almost impressive.

Solution: Hire a cleaning lady. Or shove everything in the closet where you can’t see it. Guess which one I’m partial to.

6. When that drunk douchebag won’t stop hitting on you at the bar

We’ve all been here, am I right? (I’m right.) You’re out, you’re waiting for a drink at the bar and somehow you get wrangled and tangled into the grasp of the Drunk Douchebag. And he’s just not getting any of your “I am less that .0000000001% interested” hints. And you don’t want to be mean (this is hypothetical because I love to be mean, especially to DD’s) — but nothing seems to be working. In an ideal world, your significant other would swoop in and be all, “Is this guy bothering you?” (Girls with boyfriends, this actually happens, right? It’s not just a thing they do in rom-coms?)

Solution: Make crazy eyes at your nearest friend signaling them for help. Or, put on your big girl pants and tell him to fuck off. My personal fave.

7. There is no 7

I literally couldn’t think of 7 times I’ve wanted a boyfriend. But 7 sounded like a good number for the title. When I encounter number 7 I’ll be sure to let you know. Thought Catalog Logo Mark


About the author

Meg Kehoe

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