I’m forty-one and I’m single. Not just ‘between relationships’ single, I’m talking decade long, thank god I enjoy my own company, I’ve now completed Netflix, single.
I’ve pretty much devoted the last eleven years to my daughter and my writing career, and while I’ve had a string of casual dalliances which have kept me sane, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that some people are just meant to be alone.
However, I live in a world where everyone is paired off and must deal with the bullshit that comes with being almost* middle-aged and single.
*45 is technically middle aged. I will fight you.
No one wants to date anymore. Everyone just wants to swipe your face with the same hand they hope to use in some disgusting way on your body, two hours after you meet. I’m so done with it.
Socialising with couples.
It seems a lot of stupid, perfect couples like the company of other stupid, perfect couples, so I either decline the invite or third wheel it, trying not to steal husbands as I roll past. One half of the group will demand debauched tales of my single life, while the other half will tell me how glad they are that they’re not single anymore.
My mother sees every man as a potential husband.
Anytime I mention someone of the opposite sex, my mother will immediately ask if that person is single and then roll her eyes because some other woman who had her shit together, married him first and why don’t I put some more make up on?
Some people accuse me of being too picky because I haven’t found anyone and I’m old as fuck. Just choose one and then grow to love them you stinkin’ loser.
I’m really not that picky. I’ve dated skinny boys in skinny ties, great big cowboy looking motherfuckers and everything in between. My only non-negotiable requirements are that he makes me laugh, likes horror films and doesn’t mind someone horse faced with a slightly dodgy leg. HOW IS THAT PICKY?
My attached friends all have attached friends because it’s the law. However, if there happens to be one recently separated maniac in their circle, they’ll try and set me up because at least it’ll get me out of the house. I’M SINGLE, BITCH, NOT ELDERLY.
Falling for people I can’t have.
Of course, this doesn’t solely apply to single people, but it seems to sting just that little bit more, the older I get. There really is nothing worse than having feelings for someone you can’t have but it’s harder to bounce back from while gravity is dragging your tits and pelvic floor towards hell.
Growing old alone.
I’m not going to lie; this scares me a little. While I might have spent the past decade with periodic intimacy and affection, can I really spend the next forty years without any? Soon my teenage daughter will be off somewhere being amazing, and I’ll still be here, cooking for one and asking myself how my day was until death comes.
Match.com still have an app? Right?