h2>Dating : Scientific Name: Singulae Womanis
No kids, no strings attached — save for that tag on your new Balenciaga.
Oh, the bliss of being single!
It’s the freedom to sing and dance the night away, without having to drag someone whose only goal in life is to get back to his Sony PlayStation.
It’s the freedom to face a slice of chocolate mousse as a friend, and then to hit the gym and flirt with hot strangers like there’s no tomorrow.
Life can be one long line of lit parties and after-parties! (After COVID, of course.)
Phone calls are event invitations…not relationship summons. You’re answerable to no one but your whim — and your whim says, ‘Un tequila más, por favor!’
Flying solo means having the opportunity for various life projects, engaging in your passions without apologies. You can be self-indulgent, self-seeking and self-actualizing without being called selfish.
Oh, to be royally single! To be butt-ugly in the morning and not even care.
To live life at your own pace, your own rhythm and your chosen melody.
there are those days…
and there are those nights…
There comes a point when a bachelorette declares, “My ears are ringing, I’m done.”
There comes a point in a woman’s fab life when a pail of margarita doesn’t offer the same kick, when trending music has suddenly become louder and wilder for her taste.
There are nights inside her empty apartment when an unpaired love bird is forced to be insightful about her accomplishments and the possibility of spending the rest of her life, alone. The pounding in her chest beats the crap out of a double-shot espresso — keeping her up at night. She twists and turns, and thinks: What if it’s just me. . .all my life?
Not that there’s anything wrong with it, women have long proven to be fiercely independent, tremendously successful and expansively happy.
But, imagine a woman subtly wanting not just more, but something different.
You’ve been there and done that. You want different things now, heeding the rattle of a different beat.
A hangover has ceased to be a badge of honor, but a head-splitting reminder of questionable judgments made under alcohol. You’ve had your share of fun in the sun…with Chinese characters inked on your body as receipts.
The years have come and gone. You’re pushing (insert age decade here) but still have the responsibilities of a college freshman. You thought you’d be riddled with family problems by now. But so far, they haven’t come.
Yes, you’re still awesome, free as can be.
But there are nights when you feel like the lone standing pin at the end of a bowling lane when the lights go off. (As snow pours heavily outside.)
You glance back on relationships good and bad, and wondered: “Did we give up too easily? Was I so unforgiving? Was he ‘The One’ but I was stupid enough to file him as a fling?”
Five years ago, you were certain you can easily score another. Today, not so much.
And it’s not like you haven’t tried.
You’ve met a lot of guys. Many of them hot…hot but something:
Hot but “unstable.” (Mentally and financially)
Hot but thinks Czechoslavakia is a breed of dog.
Hot but probably likes guys more than girls.
Hot but definitely likes guys. (Doesn’t know it yet)
It’s not like you’re being picky. You simply want a decent man…somebody to click with.
The chemistry has got to be there. He should be able to carry a decent conversation, with a sense of humor and a romantic streak. A gentleman. Thoughtful. Caring. Sweet, but man enough to defend you against muggers and trolls.
He doesn’t need to be an underwear model, oh no. You’re more woke than that. He just needs to be healthy and fit. Trimmed in the right places. Smell good. Bathe regularly. With shiny white teeth, and a cute smile.
Any eye color will do, (but brownie points for blue). With thick hair, (that didn’t come from a horse).
You just want somebody to click with — whose hands fit yours, whose smile can brighten a slow day.
You just want somebody who can make a cynic swoon, somebody to finish your sentences and double-straw a smoothie.
You want the catch who’ll initially piss you off because you thought he forgot your birthday, then suddenly spring a surprise with all of your closest friends. You want somebody who’ll wear pink on a Friday…just because he loves you, he says.
So like an irate landlady, you query the skies, ‘Where the heck is this man, and what’s taking him so long?!’
You’re ready to get married — ready even for the let-down and the disillusionment after.
You’re tired of waking up in the morning, and nobody’s brushing beside you in the mirror, tired of singing in the shower and nobody pointing out you’re out of tune. You’re so lonely, a crowded elevator makes your day.