Tuesday, January 11, 2011

being single

I've spent the past few nights sleeping in a trundle bed at the foot of the king-sized bed my co-worker snagged because he wasn't forced to chill in the San Diego airport until midnight on the day we all arrived at our offsite meetup, and let me tell you, if there's one thing I've learned from this experience, being single is awesome.

That's mainly because if I weren't single, I'd be sleeping on the equivalent of a trundle bed1 every night of my life.

Many of you may wonder why I'd be kicked out of bed every evening, but let us recall with horror how I called my last date a man eater,2 and it should come into focus nicely for you. Would I make that same mistake every evening? Maybe not. Would I think of new and innovative ways to alienate the women of my life? I haven't stopped yet!

Being single is pretty great. I get to sleep on trundle beds feet away from the ocean, I get to not call my wife like all of my co-workers are doing right now, and I get to stay at work and sweat and toil for the man however long I want without even being able to conceive of what it would be like to have a single soul in the world missing my face that will soon be cracked and bleeding due to my neglecting to pack shaving cream.

It's also great because every time I go home I get to eat delicious food, which I appreciate like manna from heaven, not like my sissy little brother who breaks out into a cold sweat whenever my mom leaves town for a Sunday. At some point I want to buy some white gloves, put them on, then take one off and slap him around a bit and remind him I ate cereal for twelve Sunday dinners in a row and he should man up and try breaking his day-long fast to cold Weetabix.3 Who needs to learn how to cook when cereal exists?

Being single is also great because I honestly started an article two months ago complaining about my maid. My maid! I had a freaking maid! I was in the top .0001% of humanity who is too fat to clean up after themselves, and needs to employ someone else to handle their slobbery, and I was complaining about it! She moved my cords and clothes around in the course of vacuuming my house and cleaning my bathroom, and I wanted to whine! Can you even comprehend how selfish someone has to be before they hit that level of anal retentivity?

Last week I spent a half hour hearing a friend of mine talking about how difficult it is to work nights and take care of her two children while her husband was away in the army, and I spend my time thinking up ways to complain about traveling the world and getting people to clean up after me.

This is the blessing of a single life.

Sure, I'll die alone, unmourned and without posterity, but I ate some delicious lamb tonight, and that sort of made up for it. Sure, I have to go on a never-ending series of first dates wherein I need to convince my counterparty that I don't, in fact, have severe neuroses, when it is plainly evident that I do, but I ran barefoot on the beach this morning, and that was pretty cool. Sure, I'll never get to teach my kid how to sing the soundtrack to The Phone Call, or count the cows along with Johnny Lingo like my niece Hannah, but I've got Google Reader material to make it through tonight. Sure, I can't remember what it's like to kiss a girl, but I got a business class upgrade on my flight back to the states, and they give out free heated towels, which feel pretty good on your face too. Sure, I just spent the night in a hot tub with a rock star who lives his life touring the country with his guitar-playing wife and programming in the back of their van during the day, but sometimes I get to blog about doing fun things, like participating in a bake-a-thon, or eating some nice cheese.

So yeah, being single rocks. But now it is time for trundle bed.4

1. That is: the couch, or, as some may call it: the dog house.
2. Yes, this is a true story. In my defense, it was a joke. A mind-numbingly bad pun, but a joke nonetheless.
3. Motto: we are the grossest-sounding cereal in the world. Honestly people, did you really think naming a cereal Weetabix was a good idea? I've seen alien species named more appetizingly. Like, what was going through your head? I'm going to make a cereal that sounds like the combination of weevils and bricks?
4. Okay, so it's not technically a trundle bed, but truth has never stopped me from complaining before.

4 comments:

Anomalei said...

You forgot to mention how you don't have to exhaust yourself on constant convincing that your counterpart is indeed beautiful & no, that outfit does not make her look fat. Especially since its more beneficial to look in the mirror & just wink at yourself each morning.

Layne said...

How dare you. How dare you slander my beloved Weetabix? You probably don't like Shreddies either, you communist.

Marie said...

this is very depressing to me. sowwee cwis.

LRH said...

at least you had the cucumber.