The Dreaded Question

The fear of being alone forever is starting to creep in. Not alone as in isolated, as I have family and friends to prevent that from occurring, but alone in the terms of being single. When you are not part of a couple, the label single equates to alone. And that is why the question that arises most frequently, "Do you have a boyfriend?", becomes the most haunting.

I don't recall, when I was part of a couple, people asking about my "other half". Whether I wasn't sensitive to it or they just didn't ask is hard to determine. Maybe I gave off a couple vibe that kept that question at bay. Though if that was true, the assumption made by folks now that I'm involved would be just cruel mocking of my single status. Whatever the reason for it, your alone-ness tends to arise out of most any conversation. Clients at work will comment, "Oh, so your going away for the weekend with your boyfriend." Anyone you haven't seen in a while, definitely will ask, "Who are you with now?"

I suppose if once the answer to such questions was negative the issue was dropped, it wouldn't be such an annoyance. But somehow they are always followed by, "Dating more than one then?, or "Why?" The sting of both ponderings doesn't get easier. How can you go on to say, "Not only no one in particular but NO ONE" without feeling the pity reflected in their eyes? And "Why?", well if I knew that I wouldn't be single.

Maybe I could claim a vow of celibacy or that I'm imposing exile from romantic relationships in order to cleanse my soul. Currently, I just blame the city I live in. It's too big, too cold, too impersonal. I just can't meet anyone here, which is true. And when I do, they are entirely unsuitable. If only I lived elsewhere, my love life would be hopping, right? Even though the city lacks a bounty of half decent men and tends to be cold, thousands of other couples have formed here so I don't know now long that excuse will hold water.

So, I guess the "Why?", though they always phrase it more delicately than the one syllable, is the worse of the stings. I used to think I was intimidating to men and there was evidence amongst my friends to back it up. Attractive, smart, vibrant young women and all single. Guys just too stupid and scared to approach and cowardly going after bimbos and ditzes instead.

However, lately the best examples of ignored female resplendence have met guys and are happy in relationships. They are now part of couples. Not that I begrudge my friends love - I want them to be happy. But I miss having commiserating conversations with them. As the numbers dwindle amongst the single gals, I see myself left with the dredges of femininity - unwanted by men. Okay, that is a bit dramatic and I'm sure I could find a boyfriend if I wanted to lower my standards. Some guys are attracted to me and would be happy to make a couple with me. I'm just not sure who those guys are anymore. Most of adoring male friends have coupled off themselves so besides my gay husband, there won't be any willing to stand at the end of the aisle for me.

Several people have suggested "getting out there more", which seems to mean partying up at the club. Yeah, didn't work for me since the age of 17 so I doubt it will now. Even just being out, if I see some desirable man, what am I going to do about it? I am too old fashioned, i.e. chicken, to approach a guy. Even if I did, the fact that he didn't initiate it would always bother me. I mean maybe he wasn't that into me but I put in an effort so he went for it. I would be getting a boyfriend out of his laziness. Yes, I know that some men are afraid of rejection too but shouldn't they be more used to the dating process and therefore more comfortable approaching a girl they desire? I also know that it is unlikely for me to be walking down the street and some hottie strolling up and professing his undying love. But a simple hello would suffice. Lots of people meet through friend but not on elaborate set up schemes, just at get-togethers and such. My friends tell me they don't have anyone for me that I would like, which may be a comment of my level of pickiness as well as the lack of available men in this city.

I suppose as my circle of single friends dwindles away, I can take comfort in the fact that it means it could happen to me next. Or, it just means that I have less candidates for the crazy old ladies with cats position. Until it becomes clear which path my life will take, I still have to answer the questions of my status. Next time someone asks about my boyfriend, I suppose I can say, "Oh, I am a lesbian." But I guess I just open the door for, "Do you have a girlfriend?"