I’m bored of being single. I know this isn’t news. I know you’re probably bored of me being single. But this is where we are. Or at least it’s where I am and I wish I weren’t.
But you know where I’m most bored of being single? At weddings. I can only remember four weddings that I attended with a boyfriend. Four. Of the 30, 40, 50 weddings I’ve been to, four I recall being with a boyfriend.
And, don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting that going to a wedding with a boyfriend means that life is a bed of roses. I’ve been the one sat at the wedding, beside my boyfriend, wondering if this is ever going to be us. Wondering if these people have something we don’t, if what we have is this, if it’s enough. (Well clearly the answer to that question became apparent in the fullness of time; clearly those people did have something we didn’t, and whatever we had, it wasn’t enough.)
But, existentialist crises about the state of one’s relationship aside, at least I had someone to be my default dance partner, to do up my zip, to tell me that I looked beautiful, to undo my zip at the end of the night.
And yes, of course, I can do weddings single. It’s not as if I haven’t had enough practise. I can dance with my friends, I can get someone to do up my zip, I can be grateful when a friend tells me I look stunning and isn’t it a pity there aren’t more/any single men there, and, at the end of the night when I’ve been the third or fifth person in a cab home, and I’ve watched the couples disappear off to their respective rooms, I can do the necessary contortions to undo my own zip. I’m just tired of having to.
And this is what worries me about the prospect of being a single parent. If I’m tired of looking after myself, how much more tired am I going to be of looking after myself and someone else?