It's Not You: 27 (Wrong) Reasons You're Single by Sara Eckel

Author:Sara Eckel [Eckel, Sara]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-01-07T00:00:00+00:00

15

YOU’RE TOO FABULOUS TO SETTLE DOWN

“Your life sounds so exciting! So glamorous!” the married folk say after you mention you’re going to see a movie with a guy you met while getting your car inspected. This is often preceded by one of those “I’m just a boring mom” humblebrags. “And my big plans are playing fairy princess with Bella and trying to corral Connor into the tub. . . .”

Not that these comparisons are entirely unwelcome. After all, if you’re going to get your second choice in life, might as well rock it.

So you play along. Last night’s Internet date might have been less-than-bedazzling, but he was a doctor (a dermatologist, but still!) and he had those philharmonic tickets that his coworker abandoned. So you lightly mention the MD and string ensemble because why not? If life and television have given you this little chip, might as well push it to the center of the table. Go ahead: Sprinkle in the names of a few more mystery men—“Matt the investment banker,” “Trey the bass guitarist.”

“We can’t keep them all straight!” they say.

“Me neither!” you cry.

Professional lives can also be goosed up for maximum glam, because as Melanie Notkin points out, all gainfully employed single ladies are “career women.” Marriage? Babies? Who can think of such things when you have that quarterly earnings report to file!

And you need to be a “career woman” because how else will you afford the necessary accouterments of a cool singleton’s life: the weekends in Paris, the wine-tasting courses, the two-hundred-dollar hair treatments. Not for you the state-park staycations and dollar-days coupons. That’s just-a-boring-mom’s territory!

My profession has always prevented me from having much disposable income, but freelance writers are often paid in rhinestones and glitter, anyway. So there would be an interview with a famous author, a job reviewing a spa, a launch party where caterers served expensive champagne and pretty little canapés. These became the bright, shiny stones I used to build my armor of fabulousness—pay no attention to the woman eating leftover spaghetti in front of the television. I curated and cherry-picked my life the way one does a Facebook page. I edited myself down to a nice glossy package and said, “This is me.”

And a big part of that “me” was the men—because, oh honey, were there men. I quickly realized that the most important thing about being fabulous—more than the professional achievements, or the travel, or the artisanal cocktails—was to make very, very clear that I didn’t need a guy.

The fact that I had been on my own for many years somehow didn’t count. The only way to really prove I didn’t need a guy was to have a guy—and then make clear how unnecessary he was.

Honestly, I wasn’t terribly good at this. I had exposed my lonely, throbbing heart too many times to convince anyone that I wasn’t interested in a relationship. But once in a while I’d be seeing someone who sounded good on paper—because he had a cool-sounding job or country of origin—but I didn’t really connect with beyond the initial physical attraction.

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