Munchausen's Singledom by Proxy

In the Times Magazine profile of Maureen Dowd that came out when her book did, the author sniffed that MoDo, "at age 50, has never lived with a boyfriend." I don't like her much in general (it's not her fault that she happens to perform ultra-femininity in a position of power few women have, but it sure does make it look like that's how she got there) but that line helped us bond. When you're chronically single--or, like Dowd and not like me, chronically hopping along a string of enviable suitors--you tend to forget that some folks regard singleness as a disease or, at the very least, a symptom of some pathology.

I bring this up because (a) I've been having a crazy run lately where I get asked out left and right, entirely unprecedentedly and (b) I am largely a happy single, which the singlehood-disease camp REALLY hates. If you have someone who says "oh, it's okay, you'll find someone someday" or encourages you to give a chance to folks you're perfectly fine living without, it's because they think allowing yourself to remain unpartnered is on a danger par with fucking bareback. The fun only multiplies when the same person expects you to hear out the weepy details of their serious relationships or the numbing details of their inconsequential ones (and I am generally pleased to do this, because I am a good friend and a happy single.) But you know you've hit the pinnacle of awesomeness when the same person looks like they're swallowing vomit if you! the single! DARE to have even a mini-romantic success of your own. I told two of my friends a brief and less gushy version of the post below about last night. P was excited and happy for me while Q looked like she'd been poisoned. She left after a few minutes without having said, I swear, another word. It was the same way when I was with Dean (story someday) not too long ago.

Yes, Q has been having romantic hard times lately because she's still in love with her ex, but I'm not asking her to genuinely be happy for me or even not to bitch behind my back. Either of those would be totally acceptable reactions I'd pursue myself. But I would also muster enough of an act of interest and support to show the friend that I cared enough to muster the act. Hell, I'd pull off the act and she'd believe me. But I'm cool like that.