The other day I was making my way through the Sharwan Smith Center back to my apartment for some hardcore laundry doing. It was a pretty decent day so far, I was feeling pretty good about life. Even my singleness. I had resolved that I love my single friends a lot, and if I found someone I wouldn't be able to hang out with them nearly as much. Life was good.
That was, until I saw a rather unsavory sight. A young man I had quite amorous feelings toward last semester was holding the hand of his new girlfriend. Not just holding, caressing. The sight immediately sent a chill of bitterness and jealousy down my spine, causing me to feel a lot less than OK about my singlehood.
Damn singlehood.
It took me a solid 36 hours to recover. With the help of a nice visit from my dad accompanied by a free lunch, a delicious pepperoni pizza doused in Frank's Red Hot pepper sauce, commiserating with my also single roommates, clean clothes, and a freezer full of food, I finally felt like I was back where I was before I saw anything. What a relief!
I know that the right guy is out there, and he's amazing, and meeting him will make every trivial relationship and bad date worth it.
It's just a matter of persevering until then. Weeding out the losers, one dud at a time.
Keep it real readers.
The random, often far-too-honest ramblings of everyone's favorite "chicken".
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