Why I Love Singlehood: by Elisa Lorello, Sarah Girrell
Authors: Elisa Lorello, Sarah Girrell
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chatting it up with a blond.
Me
: Excuse me, may I just ask why you didn’t check my box?
As the words lingered in my ear, I realized that something sounded very off-color about them.
He held up his hands as if I was about to make a scene.
Tom
: Listen, no offense. You were just a little too know-it-all for me, that’s all. Like you had it all figured out or were above it all or something. I mean, it’s all good clean fun, ya know?
I shrank to the size of a stain on the floor.
Me
: Thanks. Sorry to interrupt you.
Norman drove and talked incessantly about Samara. Minerva fell asleep on Jay’s shoulder, while he kissed her head and closed his eyes. I sat up front and stared out the window, feeling like the world had gone and hooked up without me.
I thought I was so content not to be in a relationship. And then it occurred to me: I wasn’t. What I mean is, I actually was not content to be with anyone who wasn’t Shaun.
It’s about him, isn’t it. It’s always been about him.
I shut down my laptop and stood up, trying to catch my balance. Without even washing the makeup off my face, I slipped out of my clothes, left them in a pile on the floor, threw on a T-shirt, and fell into bed.
And the Tom Cruise-guy thought I had it all figured out.
11
Aftermath
FOLLOWING THE SPEED-DATING night, I had given myself my first weekend off in God knew how long, and spent most of it in bed. Not accustomed to drinking so much, I nursed a hangover using one of Minerva’s home remedies consisting of alternating glasses of V-8 juice and Gatorade with a double dose of vitamins. I had also decided to give myself a much-needed sabbatical from my laptop. When I returned to The Grounds on Monday, however, I was barraged with questions about my WILS post and about the speed dating night. It turned out that I should’ve titled it “Never Post Anything When You’re Drunk.”
“I don’t know,” said Dara, sitting with Minerva and two other Regulars, “it sounded kinda fun.”
“Wow, that’s quite a turnaround for you,” I said. “Whose post did you read—mine or Minerva’s lab report?”
Not surprisingly, Minerva had taken the social experiment to heart and wrote a conventional lab report—she even used APA documentation when she quoted Jay’s account of the evening as “snazzy.”
Minerva rolled her eyes at me. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Please. You could’ve submitted that thing to the Journal of Behavioral Psychology and they’d have wound up studying you .”
Dara leaned in to Minerva, as if we were discussing a scandal. “So, did you take any cards at the end? Who was your favorite?”
“My favorite mini-date?” Minerva asked. “I’d have to say Norman.”
Norman?
Jay shot Minerva a look. Norman??
She glanced around at our faces, all emanating confusion. “Yeah. I had a really nice time,” she insisted.
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Norman—as in, you-once-threatened-to-castrate-him-for-calling-you-Minnie, Norman?” I said.
Behind her, Norman blanched at the mere memory.
“I never threatened to castrate him,” she corrected. “And yeah. He’s a funny guy.” She called over her shoulder, “You hear that, Norman? I think you’re a peach!”
“You’re married!” he shot back from behind the counter. “What good does that do me?”
“I dunno. References?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy that needs references?” he asked.
“Do I look like the kind of girl you want to answer that?” she retorted, turning back to the rest of us and continued nonchalantly to her husband. “Who was your favorite, Jay?”
He looked at her as if the answer was obvious. “You.”
She scoffed, “Oh, please. You eat dinner with me every night! There must have been someone more interesting there. Come on, tell us! I promise, I’m not going to get upset.”
“You’re my favorite,” he said, sounding like a boy defending his favorite teddy bear.
One side of
Me
: Excuse me, may I just ask why you didn’t check my box?
As the words lingered in my ear, I realized that something sounded very off-color about them.
He held up his hands as if I was about to make a scene.
Tom
: Listen, no offense. You were just a little too know-it-all for me, that’s all. Like you had it all figured out or were above it all or something. I mean, it’s all good clean fun, ya know?
I shrank to the size of a stain on the floor.
Me
: Thanks. Sorry to interrupt you.
Norman drove and talked incessantly about Samara. Minerva fell asleep on Jay’s shoulder, while he kissed her head and closed his eyes. I sat up front and stared out the window, feeling like the world had gone and hooked up without me.
I thought I was so content not to be in a relationship. And then it occurred to me: I wasn’t. What I mean is, I actually was not content to be with anyone who wasn’t Shaun.
It’s about him, isn’t it. It’s always been about him.
I shut down my laptop and stood up, trying to catch my balance. Without even washing the makeup off my face, I slipped out of my clothes, left them in a pile on the floor, threw on a T-shirt, and fell into bed.
And the Tom Cruise-guy thought I had it all figured out.
11
Aftermath
FOLLOWING THE SPEED-DATING night, I had given myself my first weekend off in God knew how long, and spent most of it in bed. Not accustomed to drinking so much, I nursed a hangover using one of Minerva’s home remedies consisting of alternating glasses of V-8 juice and Gatorade with a double dose of vitamins. I had also decided to give myself a much-needed sabbatical from my laptop. When I returned to The Grounds on Monday, however, I was barraged with questions about my WILS post and about the speed dating night. It turned out that I should’ve titled it “Never Post Anything When You’re Drunk.”
“I don’t know,” said Dara, sitting with Minerva and two other Regulars, “it sounded kinda fun.”
“Wow, that’s quite a turnaround for you,” I said. “Whose post did you read—mine or Minerva’s lab report?”
Not surprisingly, Minerva had taken the social experiment to heart and wrote a conventional lab report—she even used APA documentation when she quoted Jay’s account of the evening as “snazzy.”
Minerva rolled her eyes at me. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Please. You could’ve submitted that thing to the Journal of Behavioral Psychology and they’d have wound up studying you .”
Dara leaned in to Minerva, as if we were discussing a scandal. “So, did you take any cards at the end? Who was your favorite?”
“My favorite mini-date?” Minerva asked. “I’d have to say Norman.”
Norman?
Jay shot Minerva a look. Norman??
She glanced around at our faces, all emanating confusion. “Yeah. I had a really nice time,” she insisted.
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Norman—as in, you-once-threatened-to-castrate-him-for-calling-you-Minnie, Norman?” I said.
Behind her, Norman blanched at the mere memory.
“I never threatened to castrate him,” she corrected. “And yeah. He’s a funny guy.” She called over her shoulder, “You hear that, Norman? I think you’re a peach!”
“You’re married!” he shot back from behind the counter. “What good does that do me?”
“I dunno. References?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy that needs references?” he asked.
“Do I look like the kind of girl you want to answer that?” she retorted, turning back to the rest of us and continued nonchalantly to her husband. “Who was your favorite, Jay?”
He looked at her as if the answer was obvious. “You.”
She scoffed, “Oh, please. You eat dinner with me every night! There must have been someone more interesting there. Come on, tell us! I promise, I’m not going to get upset.”
“You’re my favorite,” he said, sounding like a boy defending his favorite teddy bear.
One side of
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