It's official: I am the last single girl in my group of friends. Carol, my roommate and partner in crime, came home this morning with a huge smile plastered across her face. I knew as soon as she skipped into the living/my bedroom that she had gone to the dark side. Every woman knows that big fat smile. It’s the smile of a woman who is officially a part of a couple. It is the smile of a woman who will soon replace the words “I” and “me” with “we” and “us.”
Carol just stood in the middle of the living room/my bedroom smiling at me for what seemed like hours before I finally said something.
“So how was last night?” I ask with lackluster enthusiasm as I squinted up at her through the morning sunlight. Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling as she sighed deeply with the smile still plastered across her face.
“Well…” she started through her Cheshire Cat grin. “We went out to dinner at this Caribbean restaurant that was so good and then we went back to his place…” she trailed off.
“So you really like Ronny then huh?” I asked.
She looks sheepishly at the floor and sighed again. I could tell from the look on her face that she is remembering some cute memory from last night and it made me want to jump out of bed and slap her.
“Ronny just makes me feel so good about myself,” she said. “He’s always complimenting me. I’m not used to that! It’s just really nice.”
“So are you guys are like together then?”
“I don’t know… I guess…”
How did this happen?! I ask myself as Carol rambles on about how great Ronny is. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for her! I’m over the moon for her! She is an intelligent, beautiful, fun young woman and she should be with someone who sees that. I am happy for her and sad for myself.
Over the past year all of my close girlfriends have gotten boyfriends. One of them is currently living with hers and two others are discussing doing the same. Carol was the last girl in my group who was free for sushi and martinis on Saturday night and brunch on Sunday. Our phone conversations were never cut short because (insert male name) is calling on the other line, has just arrived, or is already there and is feeling neglected. We both enjoyed going out for dinner and drinks followed by more drinks and dancing. Over dinner we'd bitch about how men suck and on the dance floor we would dance with boys and men whose names we would forget or never know. We did what I thought all the other twenty-somethings were doing New York: being carefree and having fun. But apparently when I was out dancing on bars, shooting Jack and Patron, and giving out fake numbers everyone else was pairing off like this was the second coming of Noah and his arc.
I did not get the “everyone is coupling off” memo and now I am doomed to dining by myself at the bar of trendy New York restaurants, eating ice cream in my pajamas on the couch on Saturday nights, and getting up early enough on Sundays to have breakfast not brunch. I still occasionally go out with "the girls" for "girls’ night out" which really means: "the only night away from my boyfriend this month." But instead of discussing men’s shortcomings we will discuss the cute thing Devin did this week, or how sweet Justin is, or if Jessie sees her self marrying Manuel. Occasionally, I point out that I am the only single girl left. Everybody has boyfriends! Geraldine and Andy, Lauren and what's his name, Simona and Victor, Sam and Justin, Natasha and Devin, Jessie and Manuel, Chanel and Matthew and now Carol and Ronny. The girls sigh, roll their eyes, and say that being in a relationship “isn't all that its cracked up to be.” Natasha tells me that relationships take work (as if I didn’t know). And Jessie reminds me that I have so many things going on in my life right now that I should really concentrate on my career, or the lack there of. When I am feeling particularly needy I complain to Sam (she’s the nice one) that I don't know why I can't find a boyfriend.
“I'm not asking for a lot,” I whine into the phone. “I just want a manly man who is smart, funny and taller than me. I go out all the time and try to meet people! But the only guys I meet are losers or just trying to sleep with me. I mean, Jesus Christ, looking for an eligible bachelor who wants a relationship in Manhattan is like looking for the goddamn Holy Grail! I'm smart, funny, and interesting. What's the problem?” By the end of my rant I am screaming into the phone. Sam is silent and I suddenly feel self-conscious and ask: “Am I really annoying or something?”
“Oh my God!” Sam exclaims in her sweet voice. “You are not annoying at all!”
“Then what is it!?” I whine as I wander around my kitchen looking for something full or carbs, sugar or fat, or ideally all of the above to comfort me.
“Maybe guys are just intimidated by you.”
“What?! Why would I intimidate a man? I’m an out of work actress who is hostessing for a living!” I scream into the phone.
“They aren’t intimidated by your job!” Sam giggles. No matter how much I yell and scream Sam always maintains her sweet disposition. “They’re intimidated because you are beautiful, intelligent and have a strong personality.”
Sam likes to tell me that my alleged beauty intimidates guys every time I complain about being single. Although it makes me feel slightly better, I know is a load of bullshit because models and celebrities are never without boyfriends and husbands.
“Sam,” I say sternly. “That’s bullshit!”
“Oh dear,” Sam sighs. “What am I going to do with you?”
“What am I going to do with myself?”
