Before I got married, I had an on-again/off-again affair with being single. When we were on and things were good, I loved it; but when we were off, I hated it.
There’s a lot to love about being single: you’ve got freedom and independence; you can come and go as you please; and you can do what you want when you want. You can go out, get laid, and not have to answer to anybody.
If you’re not actively dating, you don’t have to shave your legs or get bikini waxes on a regular basis. And if you’re a guy, you can scratch your balls and fart all you want.
Now that’s what I call freedom!
Being single can be the greatest time of your life, or it can be a living hell. If you’ve ever been a singleton at a couples dinner party, or at a wedding without a +1, or dateless at a family function, you know the hell I’m talking about.
For years, a girlfriend of mine has been throwing dinner parties attended mostly by her married friends or fellow school parents. Even though I was single, she would invite me, and I accepted because I adore her. The evenings were glorious events, filled with incredible food and wine, beautiful settings, and fabulous people. And it was brutally tough to get through.