The Injustice of Being a Singleton

“I really don’t want to hear about happy gay couples right now.”  Yup, I said it.  More specifically, I said it to my sister over Memorial Day weekend.  She had come down to visit, her new husband and three month old son in tow.  She was talking to me about her best friend Jason, who  is getting married to his boyfriend in about a month.  It’s not that I can’t rejoice for them, it’s that I can’t rejoice for anyone enjoying romantic happiness at the moment.  This is a strange and new characteristic, and I am uncertain as to when it began happening, but it shows no signs of abating right now.

A certain amount of this ennui is the fact that I am constantly aiding straight people through messy breakups, hookups, rebounds, flings and affairs.  I am a bit exhausted with other people’s love lives, and would enjoy the opportunity to become lost in my own.  Last summer I had to tell a neighbor, “I can’t help you straight people out with this shit anymore.  You’ve hooked up and broken up with four men in the three months you’ve been my neighbor, while I can’t get a date in this town and my right to marry someday is under constant attack.  Take your goddamn love troubles elsewhere.”  No, not exactly tactful or thoughtful, but I have not been bothered by her love issues since.  It is only one less person not crying on my shoulder, but that makes a lot of room for the few people who I will never say that to.

Among this select group of friends, my status as a Singleton is a running punchline.  It only moderately stings sometimes to be that guy who has gone through most of his adult life hearing straight women say things like, “If you’re not married by 30 (now 40), we’re getting married”, or “I should just kick my dead beat boyfriend out and bring you home.  You could cook for me every night!”  It’s not that a lot of these dames aren’t fantastically fun, it’s only that I would like to hear people hoping for something better for me.  I would appreciate hearing more often how great a partner I will make someone some day soon, or how much the lucky man is going to love the way I cook.

Well, I don’t get those hopeful wishes for me, so I am trying to do it myself.  It’s not easy to be your own cheerleader through life, and I am a bit on the tired side and not really up to coming up with a whole new set of cheers, but dammit, I’m worth it!  Someday soon a very lucky guy is going to me very happy, and I am going to make him the most amazing poisson-provencal a man could get anywhere outside of Provence.  If the way to a man’s heart is his stomach, my curries will convince him that he has had his last first kiss, and this is the guy who will be his one and only from now on.

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