the single frend

I’m honestly so tired of being treated like a single person. Don’t get me wrong—I am single, and I like it. But my friends in relationships have this way of projecting a weird, silent pity onto me. They pretend my single life is “so wild” and “fascinating,” but you can feel the pity steaming out of their pores. Like I’m living some tragic romance-free version of life, while they’re out there with their amazing partners—arguing about socks and apologizing for things they didn’t even do.

Yes, I am the single friend. I get told the dirt. But they forget that and continue patting my back and saying “there, there, the right one is just around the corner.”And then, inevitably, they try to set me up with someone from the group because “Wouldn’t it be so cute if you dated someone we all already know?” No. It wouldn’t. Have you met me?

Let’s get this straight: the odds of me liking someone are microscopic. I’m difficult to approach, allergic to sweet talk, and have no intention of politely fake-smiling through another awkward date that someone arranged like I’m a Sims character. Unless you want to lose me and your other friend, do not set me up.

Though we all know the best part of being single: the undefeated question of the WHY?

WHY, OH WHY, ARE YOU SINGLE, MY DEAR?
“You are so pretty and kind and smart and caring and loving and adorable, plus your cooking is great and you make everyone’s life fuller!”
(Totally got asked all that and didn’t write it about myself.)

Well, Susan, I know all of that.
But you know what I don’t usually get to do on a date? Say all that out loud. Maybe I should start treating dates like job interviews.

“One of my greatest strengths I can bring is a great sense of humor. As shown in my last commitment to a man—just like you are—it made his life 100% funnier. Feel free to call and ask for my recommendation. He might hate me, but some facts cannot be denied.”

Reason for leaving last situationship?
”Because apparently being too good in bed is a problem now, and being fascinating just terrifies some people. But I have a feeling you might appreciate the full majesty of my existence.”

Okay, now I’m making myself nauseous with all this self-love. Not that it’s wrong—it’s just aggressively empowering.

Anyway, back to Susan and her question.
Why am I single?

Well Susan, I know it’s hard to understand—and I truly don’t know why more people aren’t—but men in general are shit. Now, I’m aware there are good ones. And most of you Susans kind of take a blank page and origami a boat out of it. But as I am too lazy and too occupied building my own most perfect Titanic out of my paper, I cannot take on the responsibility of gluing and erasing a thrown-out newspaper.

So most men that do have the confidence to approach me love to just throw boring lines like “you’re pretty” at me. And as I am in Germany, most approaches are more technical, which I just love to forfeit the intent behind. Because if you’re not burning with desire to fall in love with me, what’s even the point?

And those who dare to lead with comments on my appearance—I meet them exactly where they are: in a place of mismatched attraction and lazy intentions. If your only aim is the cover, don’t expect me to open the book.

Every once in a blue moon, someone intrigues me enough to go on a walk. Not a dinner, not a date. A walk. Because I won’t sit across from a stranger for one courses of forced small talk, only to play ping-pong with the bill like it’s some kind of financial duel. I’m too self-sufficient to expect a man to fund my meal, and too polite to pretend I’m not irritated by the assumption.

There’s no hollow part of me that needs a man to fill it. No aching silence I’m desperate to mute. The more time I spend with the love of my life—me (and my dog)—the more I value a genuine connection. One sparked by curiosity, not projection. Interest, not assumption. A vision of me, not a fantasy.

I’m not single because no one’s chosen me.
I’m single because I choose carefully.