I am not single by choice. I would like nothing better than to have a man with whom to share my time, experiences, concerns, hopes, etc with and, cliché though it may sound, someone to just grow old with. But I don’t. I go home everyday to an empty house, skip meals that would have otherwise been lonely and avoid going out for movies so as not to attend solo.
Why am I single? Well I don’t really know. I was in a relationship that ended a couple of years back and haven’t found my footing back into that particular rat race since. Not that I couldn’t be bothered, but it always seems to happen, that the people I would move to Borat’s Kazakhstan for hardly notice that I exist while those I’m not interested in propose marriage. Yeah well!
Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t spend my day skulking and dejectedly seeking out the unsuspecting man who shall my mate forever be. I do not spend countless hours watching the wedding show and picking out the perfect theme colour for my own prized day. Far from it. I am rather happy and am content to have the freedom that singleness brings.
On the upside, there’s no one to answer to. So what if you didn’t cook? So what if you got in late (or not at all)? On the down side, it at times feels that the loss of the independence would be welcome for the security of a mate and the comfort of having conformed to societal expectations of you, expressed since the first time you got a doll for Christmas while you brother got a toy car.
