Things I Hate: Being Single

No, it’s not what you think.

I don’t think I’m giving a lot away by saying that while I’m not exactly happy with my current status, I definitely think it falls into that ‘it’s for the best’ category. So this post isn’t my mighty moment of doubt.

Instead, it’s an acknowledgement that I am literally ten years off my game when it comes to dealing with sane, rational members of the opposite sex. Not that I’m actively seeking this sort of thing, but I’ve found myself falling into it repeatedly in the past few weeks and it’s been annoying.

Take, for instance, last Friday night. I was at a work function, or more accurately, the after-party of a work function, and these two distinct things happened:

1. Catching me totally unawares, a woman I have seen before in my life sneaks up behind me and wraps one arm around my shoulders, tousles my hair with her free hand and plants a kiss on my cheek. I turn my head to get a better appraisal of what exactly the fuck is going on, and the woman, who I have to reiterate at this point that I have never seen in my life, fumblingly apologizes and says to me, “You’re the wrong guy.”

Story of my life, huh?

Now if I weren’t nestled in a warm, moist bed of scotch by that point in the evening, or if I even gave a damn at all about this misfortunate piece of bar trash that is herself so impaired that she sees a bearded, six and a half foot tall man in a black suit, black shirt and a solid neon pink tie and gets him confused with someone else, I might have said something like, “Are you sure about that?” to try and turn it around or whatever. I didn’t do that, though; I had another beer. Hindsight tells me that it was the wiser choice anyway.
2. Later in the evening, I’m approached by a petite blond who wordlessly goes about the business of untying my tie and trying to steal it. It was “pretty,” she told me. I know, I say back. That’s why I paid money for it. She looked perplexed. Jesus, I am such a curmudgeon. After talking her out of the tie gambit, Mary - her name is Mary - and I ended up arm wrestling (I know you’re curious, so I’ll tell you I lost on purpose because really, are you going to thrash a girl at arm wrestling? That’s fun to live down at the office, I’m sure).

After the big throwdown, Mary continues to hang out and talk to me. She was really affable despite being completely tanked, and so I got my hopes up slightly when she casually asked me, “Are you seeing anybody?”

“No,” I said, despite the twinge of guilt that forming and aspirating the word caused me.

In an almost total act of non sequitir, Mary reached out to touch me and said, “I’m married. And I love my husband.” WHAT? It was a bit like the ending of The Crying Game or Ang Lee’s Hulk in the way that the big climax makes the viewer almost enraged that they’ve been fooled into thinking that guy was totally a chick or that a summer tentpole action movie wouldn’t turn into a high-budget Beckett play that ends with a giant green monster fighting a body of water. I’ve long believed that my life is a series of interesting misfortunes strung together for the amusement of others, but it’s rare that the examples of this follow so close on one another’s heels.

I should probably amend the title of this to Things I Hate: Random Encounters With Drunk Women, but honestly, it’s a less compelling headline. It’s probably also true that I’ve just described two episodes that are annoying or irritating but not indicative of any kind of fumbling lack of skill or grace on my part. It just never feels like that in the moment that it happens, does it?