If you - like myself - sometimes find that your friends are sipping red wine at fancy restaurants and taking stunning weekend breaks to Somerset with their other half, while you throw yet another rubbery meal for one into the microwave, watching it pirouette under the appliances spotlight, wondering why you’re just so unlovable, then perhaps it’s time to reassess your priorities.
When you’re a care-free, single, 20-something, of course your friends are your first priority; after all, you’ve just spent the last decade getting them into Uber’s safely, and building up their self-worth.
But all that becomes a distant memory when the men – who have always come and gone – stop going.
Three is, unfortunately, a crowd, and the one who’s putting their dick in them, now takes precedence over the one who provided a shoulder to cry on about all the dickheads before; and before you know it, you’re the third wheel at dinner or being cancelled on at the last minute.
Furthermore, once your friends swap benders for real responsibilities, they’ll seriously sit there and talk for 50 minutes straight about their kid’s digestive system, and then legit completely skate over the fact that you gargled a stranger’s load the night before. Talk about self-involved. It’s like, I know you have a baby, but hello, I have heartburn.
And it can be a hard truth to - *ahem* - swallow. The truth being that listening to your hot-mess friend detail yet another insignificant sexual encounter with someone they’ll never see again, just doesn’t factor anywhere on their interest scale when they’re knee-deep in shitty nappies.
Which is fair enough, considering that when they talk about babyproofing and play dates, we’re literally asleep with our eyes open.
Of course, we’re nothing but happy for them, because all we ever want for our friends is for them to be happy, but it begins to feel like it’s us vs them; especially when you’ve been lefts with gaps in your social calendar and theirs has almost closed entirely. So I guess, just fuck all those memes about us hunting for dick in our 60s then?
And as if being the last single left wasn’t emotionally triggering enough, we’re further aliened when nothing a single person achieves is ever celebrated with as much oomph or grandiose as finding some permanent dick.
And rest assured, you’ll be expected to attend weddings abroad, engagement parties, baby showers, baby birthdays, and all with uncomfortable shoes on your feet, and a gift you can’t afford in tow, while remaining totally understanding that they can’t make your birthday this year, because they’re “tired”.
You’re tired? Bitch, I been searching for happiness for 29 years, tell me about it.
A notion that frequently flies over the heads of heterosexual friends, who - blessed without the burden of having to attend specific venues in order to actually have an opportunity to find love - will never want to catch up in gay bar.
Ironically, they’ll even encourage you to ditch dates to see them because you guys are “so overdue” a catch-up because of their own busy schedule, but when tomorrow comes, and they’re spooning the hubs, who’ll be the one watching a low-fat lasagna twirl round the microwave with nothing but Netflix for comfort?
I’m aware that this sounds like the bitter ramblings of a petty single, but isn’t incessant complaining and feeling personally attacked what we do best?
Besides, I understand that it’s not malicious, and that when people fall in love their priorities change… The only thing is, so should yours.
Friendship is very much about compromise, but being happy is in-part about being selfish; so when it comes to your time, be a selfish mother-fucker.
The way your coupled friends prioritise the man in their life, should be the way you prioritise finding one in yours. As ain’t nobody gonna help you meet him at this point. Fill your diary gaps with dates and be unapologetic about it.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than happy to wear the uncomfortable shoes, and shop for the excessive gifts, and even board a plane to Europe to rejoice in the fact that you found a semi-decent man, if perhaps you can find it in your busy schedule to be a good wingman once in a while.
So that we too, might one day suffocate you with a string of self-indulgent and inconvenient Special Days. Don’t forget your uncomfortable shoes, they’re mandatory.
To read more from the Single & Fabulous? series click here.