As I continue to have fabulous adventures in the Wide World O' Dating, I have discovered that there is an irritating trend amongst my already coupled-up lady friends: they want to give me dating advice.
Now, I have nothing but L-U-V for my peeps, but there is nothing more annoying than a person who married their elementary-school sweetheart giving you pointers on how to meet 'the one,' especially when everyone knows I am the Greatest Pimpette of the Playa Nation, yo! So please, all you attached ladeez, take a Sea Hag's advise and refrain from the following:
Today's lesson: When you least expect it
For the love of everything good and holy, please never, ever say the following phrase to your single friends:
Don't worry, love will happen when you least expect it!'
OK, first of all, shut up, Dr. Phil. You may think what you're saying is helpful, but what it really sounds like is this: The moment you totally and utterly give up every last shread of hope that you'll meet someone who is even remotely worthy of caressing your delicate lady parts on a regular basis, you'll stumble into someone who you'll wind up settling for just to stave off the daily crushing agony of being alone and you can finally stop worrying that you will die by yourself in a studio apartment and they won't find your rat-nibbled corpse for 3 weeks because no one will care that you've been missing for that long and the neighbors will finally complain about the smell.
Second of all: yeah, we all already know that's how it usually happens. You never find a decent man when you're out in your best skanky 'ho threads and your hair looks friggin awesome, and you have on your favorite lacy matching bra and panties set and you shaved everything that needs to be shaved, and your skin has been lotioned up to the peak of softness, oh no. You find a good man when you decide to go to Kroger at 3 a.m. in your blue flannel jammie bottoms with the cowgirls printed on them because you had the most rad brainstorm ever in which you decide that cherry Twizzlers and chocolate Twizzlers would taste even better if they were eaten together (which, sadly, is not true) and you accidentally plow your cart into a dude who is trying to decide between Corn Pops and Fruity Pebbles.
We all know you never strike boyfriend gold when you're sitting in the Barnes & Noble Starbucks cafe sipping chai latte (no whip) and reading a copy of Bust magazine looking all chic and sophisticated, instead, you get asked out by the hot blonde dude at work who you've totally been crushing on for years and on the day you're on your 13th straight hour of your double shift he decides to ask you for your digits even though you look like you got trampled by a herd of hysterical women at a Fillene's Basement clearance on wedding gowns. Seriously, we know. Trust me, we do. Don't rub it in.
So, my attached friends, know that we fabulous singlets love you muchly... but please, shove your advice where all but Customs officers fear to tread.
Love,
Sea Hag
loveseahag(at)gmail(dot)com
1 comment:
All true. All of it. Every last shred. When they say, these married friends, "I'm so JEALOUS of you! You get THE WHOLE BED TO YOURSELF", I administer a sharp punch and remove them from my address book.
Other particular favourites include being asked whether I'm worried about the fact that I'm nearly 37 and still childless and single. No, of course I'm fucking not. It gives me enormous pleasure, every single minute of the day, and as every day passes I feel happier about it.
Honestly. Some people.
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