I am still venting over the results of my second date. So this article is an extension of “What the Hell Happened?” Venting to be sure, but I now find myself in a state of introspection. Most people I know are either in a serious relationship or want to be in one. I am not in one, nor do I want to be.
I really am very happy being single. I honestly have no desire to find someone to share my life. An occasional date suits me fine. And if sharing my life means having to tolerate or understand female behavior of the type I just endured (read the previous article), then I definitely want to remain single. If “the one” is going to put me through that kind of crap for even one minute out of the rest of my natural life, then I want “the zero.” I deserve better, dammit! Further, the thought of spending the rest of my life continuously with one woman is an absolute turnoff to me, an affirmation that was heightened because of immediate events. The idea that I would have to modify my behavior, rearrange facets of my life, and consider the emotions of another person ahead of everything else just makes me cringe. It’s my world, my rules, my way. And everyone else is just living in it.
I flirt when I want to, ogle the sexiest ass that happens to walk by, watch porn any time, belch, fart, and scratch to my personal satisfaction, and I don’t worry about offending my wife or girlfriend because I don’t have one. Nice! I clean my house when I want—3:00 a.m. if I so choose—and to my specification. Laundry, dishes, decluttering, decorating, working out, practicing the sax, washing the vehicles, or rebuilding the goddamn carburetor on the kitchen table—it’s all done at my convenience by my own hand. I come and go as I please; I report to no one, whether it’s a trip to the store, a trip to Vegas, or staying late at work. I make good money and I know exactly where every dollar is spent. I know several ladies that I date occasionally. No, I don’t go fucking around. We just date. Now why on Earth would I forfeit any of that? And for one—only one—woman? And for the rest of my life? That’s insane! And if society has such a requirement, then Ms. Right had better be, in every way and by every measure, a total fucking knockout! Changing my life and my lifestyle will exact an extremely high price, so she had better be damned well worth it. In short, she had better be perfect!
Having said all that, I am forced to wonder, is there something wrong with me? Am I defective? Am I so hopelessly selfish, mentally screwed up in my own tiny world? I am in such a minority, it seems, that I am beginning to wonder if I am unique. I am single, I am proud of it, and I don’t want it to change. What’s wrong with that? It feels right to me, but society seems to have labeled my lifestyle as wrong. I honestly don’t get it, and I am so bewildered that I am quick to throw a double middle finger to anyone who thinks there may be something wrong with me, or who feels sorry that I am not married or “spoken for,” whatever the hell that means. I am about ready to bitch-slap the next person who asks me, “Are you married yet?” YET?? What the hell are you saying? Am I required to be married? It’s like asking, “Have you paid your taxes yet?” “Have you washed your car yet?” “Have you gotten out of bed yet?” “Have you taken a shower yet?” Here’s one I’m inclined to ask the next person: “Have you purchased a burial site yet?” I mean death and taxes, right? Is there anything more absolute? Yes, apparently—MARRIAGE! Get the fuck out of here!
