The holy trinity of “chances to be bitter about being single” is once more fast approaching. Christmas in all its sleigh bells, snowy walks, log fires, snuggly glory; Valentine’s Day with its assault to the sense of hearts, chocolates, flowers and frotting and then the doozy, my 31st birthday, a reminder that I’m another year older and another year single.

But actually that’s not such a bad thing.

  • I get to sleep like a starfish EVERY SINGLE NIGHT.
  • I get to sing along to whatever I want in the car. I can caterwaul away like a champion without strange looks from the male in the passenger seat.
  • If I want to spend an entire weekend fannying around the shops trying on a million different outfits before going back and buying the first one I saw I’m not going to have a grumblebum male to appease.
  • I can go out on the lash with Mermaid without having to get a party visa.
  • I get to spend my ladies nice things money on myself without having to buy playstation games, driving experiences and musky aftershave.
  • I don’t have to go through the bum clenchingly awkward introduction to the parents.
  • I get to flirt with any male that takes my fancy without feeling guilty about Joe Schmo at home.
  • I don’t have to worry if I wake up looking like Alice Cooper from Kiss with makeup smeared all over my dial and morning breath.
  • If I want to go an entire winter without shaving my legs in order to provide an extra bit of insulation then that’s okay. Similarly if I want to shave only one leg so I can rub the smooth against the hairy in bed and just pretend to have a man with me then I can do that. I mean I don’t do that but they’re both options to me should I feel so inclined.
  • I’m not a football/rugby/cricket/Halo widow.
  • I don’t have to answer to anyone, apart from my Stepmum sometimes which can be a bit like facing the Wrath of Khan.

So it’s not all bad. Sure I don’t get the snuggly smug loved up ness of my coupled counterparts and I have to listen to well meaning friends and relatives telling me I really shouldn’t still be single and bemoaning how we have to find me a man like it’s some sort of collective treasure hunt but really? I’d much rather be able to rock out in the car and hog the duvet.

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