The single ladies chaperone

So dating’s nothing like it used to be. It’s solitary and selfish. The fear was creeping up on me. Drinks. I needed to start with drinks. Possibly lots of them. I quickly took stock of my friends. Marrieds, I have none. Settled, I have a few and single, well, define the term ‘single.’

There’s Jess. All the while I’m getting my shit together, she’s busy picking hers apart, stitch by painful stitch. Deliberating leaving is like navigating blindfolded, I would know but I’m sure as hell not going to advise on direction, not when I can hardly see straight. No sir, that’s a choice we make somewhere south of head and north of heart. So for now, she’s edging toward single one baby step at a time, her son in one hand, her partner’s child reins dangling from the other. Next is Chrissy, a pilot, in love with a pilot. She’s living the dream, or as close as you get for the real deal. Beautiful man, beautiful home, beautiful ring but bliss doesn’t come without the odd perforation, like sorting through a minor bedroom defunk or the odd misplaced airstuard/pilot but hey, there’s always something in the closet and after a little honesty and a few skin on skin training rounds, this lookout is rosy. Technically, she’s a married but a fun loving married – there’s a difference and it is distinct. I, on the other hand was not a fun loving married. I was simply married. Then there’s Leah. This woman has it worked out. Business, friends, men. ‘What does a man give you that a vibrator and box set don’t?’ she says, cracking open the champagne. This I need to hear right now, it brings slow flutters to my heart and a glow to my skin. There is life after marriage. And sex. Or the loss of it. Only problem is; she lives down south.

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