These are the things I have discovered that I like about being single.
- You plan your own vacations with an absolute lack of concern for anything but your own whims. You don’t have to worry that maybe Angkor Wat will be too hot and boring for somebody else. No one gets any veto power over your plan to feed the monkeys there, although everyone says not to feed the monkeys because they are so aggressive.
- You can eat dinner whenever you want, and if what you want for dinner is a bag of Jordan almonds, no one remarks. For a little while, I got into a habit of eating dinner in bed with my fingers while watching Youtube videos and just sliding the plates under the bed like an ogre. I find cleaning incredibly boring and unworthwhile; as a single person, I can unapologetically leave messages to myself in the dust.
- You don’t have to deal with anyone else’s mother. There is a particular little voice I only use when I talk to boyfriends’ mothers. I don’t know what this voice is or what I hope to accomplish by using it. It’s the overly chirpy, chipper little voice I used when I was kid and a teacher would walk into the bathroom and I would put my cigarette behind my back and hope that if I was friendly enough, no one would notice the plumes of Marlboro smoke. This voice is exhausting and makes me need to lay down for at least a week afterward.
- You don’t have to worry about getting the perfect Valentine’s Day gift. I absolutely suck at buying gifts for a boyfriend. Panic takes hold, and the next thing I know, I am bringing home some lame sweater or a piece of technology that neither of us will ever take out of the stupid fucking box, and I will feel bad every time I look at it. Last year, for Sketch’s birthday, I clipped out a bunch of things out of Time Out New York that I thought he might like to do, figuring it would be better to get him tickets to a thing. He picked this troupe of disabled dancers—as an artist, he has a bit of fascination with physical difference. I did not do my due diligence on this one, however, and this is how we end up at a performance of the Jerome Bel dancers, who are developmentally disabled. You haven’t truly doubted yourself and whether you are a good person until you’ve sat through a 45-year-old Dutch woman with Down’s Sydrome spinning in circles to “Dancing Queen.”
- You can wear ugly pajamas and slippers around the house all morning without feeling self-conscious. I also have a velour bathrobe that renders me instantly unfuckable. It is a very comfortable bathrobe.
- You experience quiet. My face has to move all day, putting words in order and projecting them across the room. I need some time in the day to not do this.
- If you want to watch nine back-to-back episodes of Sons of Anarchy, no one pulls a face or tries to tell you why the show is stupid when all you want to do is watch hot bikers kill each other.
- When you go out, you can flirt with everyone—the baristas at Starbucks, a hot parent who comes to school on conference night, the cutie on the sidewalk. It’s low-investment flirting, though, and if you don’t get a response, no big.
- You can spread out in bed like a starfish, the sheets cool and spacious. I sleep better alone. I also have a tendency to clutch at things in my sleep, which is fine if “things” is a fistful of blanket and less awesome if it is someone’s scrotum under the covers.
- You learn. You learn how to be alone. You learn how to cock a hip and be all I’m single by choice, motherfucker.