Notes from the Single Life

o n e - curlicues and calligraphy

ONE: curlicues and calligraphy

"Some people are settling down, some people are settling and some people refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies." - Sex in the City

I’m single because I have failed to find a man that can live up to the false sense of love that society and Hollywood movies have contrived. I want a man that will send flowers to my work on my birthday. I want a man that will take me on romantic dates and then walk with me under the stars. I want a man that will love me with his whole heart, mind, and body. I want a man that will make me laugh and then laugh along with me. I want a man that will comfort me when I cry, and hold me when I am weak. I want a man that won’t be afraid to try new things or new food. I want a man that will make my heart beat faster than a speeding train every time he’s around. And I want a man that will make my stomach flutter as if I had swallowed a thousand butterflies.

I want all of this because, in reality, I am a little bit of a hopeless romantic. Okay, a lot of a hopeless romantic. I’ll be the first to admit that I am that girl. You know, the one with the cheesy grin plastered on her face throughout an entire romance movie, and the one who cannot help but cry at the clichéd ending. Yep, that’s me.

And you know what stinks? I’ll tell people my story. I’ll tell friends and waiters and anyone that is within listening reach. And they’ll sit there with a thoughtful posture, perhaps gently tapping their fingers together, pretending to listen. I’ll pour out my heart, but suddenly, the mind will overtake their heart. It will tell them what is right and what is wrong. It will provide their reply, and give them the superiority to believe they are right. It will do everything but allow them to listen. And that’s what I need. I need someone to tell me exactly how they are feeling about my story and me. I need someone to listen, and really listen. I don’t need sugar-coating, because, trust me, I’ve heard it all before. I simply need brutal honesty. I want people to tell me that I should give up if they truly think I should give up. I know many people think this. It’s not a secret; I’ve been single for far too long.

So when I got the wedding invitation last month, with its curlicues and calligraphy, I couldn’t help but feel as if I had somehow been cheated. The invitation was nice enough, but when I opened it, I couldn’t help the feeling of dissatisfaction and the sharp taste of panic rising in my throat.

Together with their families,

Brooke Rider & Rowland Smith

request the honor of your presence at the celebration of their union

Saturday, the twenty sixth of October

Two thousand and thirteen

The Central Park Boathouse

East 72nd Street,

 New York, NY 10028

Reception to follow

The invitation came on the hot heels of Facebook engagement announcements and baby photos from seemingly endless friends and acquaintances from high school and college. Brooke was an old friend from my childhood. Our parents were still close, but we hadn’t talked in years, and I was quite shocked when the invitation came.

I hadn’t been to a wedding in ages. You would assume that a woman in her mid-twenties would be invited to all sorts of weddings. But you see I never could work up the nerve to actually go. I went to a few weddings immediately after college, but I was a different person then. I wasn’t single. I’m not saying that I desperately need a man. I mean, I’m not the type of woman to simply settle just to say that I’m settled. I want the perfect relationship, which is probably a longshot, but it is one shot that I’m willing to take. In all actuality, it’s awkward to simply put “one” down as the “number attending.” And for all of those “wedding experts” that tell brides to “let the singles mingle,” you are sadly mistaken. In my experience, any single person at a wedding is sad, pathetic, and only wants to leave.