Why Do You Think I’m Still F***ing Single?

It has been 10 months since my declaration of independence and subsequent initiation into singledom. 

 In celebration and reflection, I give you my top dating disasters and dynamites. You are invited to add your own in the comments section at the bottom. There will be a prize for the best one!

1. Bad sex with a doctor who clearly required Anatomy for Dummies in abridged, glow-in-the-dark format. It ended with me taking on the role of Sue Johanson.
2. Beggars can be choosers in some cases, according to Mr. Sandwich who claimed to just have been mugged, complained about a free coffee that was not fair trade, and was later spotted buying a sandwich at the train station.
3. While the student discount seemed thrifty, I drew the line at helping with homework. Not even if it was on ethics in international relations. Obviously, I turned down the cash bribe as well.
4. Going through my garbage is not a conversation starter.
5. Looking shifty during a conversation about why married men cheat is an immediate disqualification.
6. Hitting me on the head with a rolled up newspaper and telling me I should be more playful = fail.
7. Refusing to wear a condom. Last time I checked, the bareback revolution was defeated by public health circa 1989. Remember the No Glove, No Love commercials? Apparently not.

Yet, I’m frequently asked why I’m still single. There is suspicion surrounding a woman who hasn’t been “snatched up” after a few months. Those who mean well ask, “What was wrong with Whatshisname? He seemed nice.” Er … do I have a sell-by date printed on my forehead?

After a while, you start to get the feeling that there’s something wrong with you; that others have decided you’re “too picky”. Sorry, but I am active, highly educated and the ugly stick missed me. I can afford to be selective and misplace the call back button. Any woman with self-respect can.

WN2D does not settle. But nobody said anything about not being reckless: some of my favourite dates were so incompatible, but so much fun. My poor mother would give herself CPR if she knew about the mediterranean chef who spoke Franglais, the Portuguese builder who introduced me to a bit too much Mateus,  playing “wingman” at a lesbian bar, or the other uses for extension cords. The list goes on, but that’s a different article altogether!

Like the song says, “We’re Here For a Good Time (Not a Long Time).”

Do I plan on being single forever? Perhaps. So why do I subject myself to the chance that each next date could be a total waste of time or a complete Roman orgy?

The answer is simple. Because the world is my oyster and it takes a certain amount of discomfort and adventure to make a pearl …