In the two decades of life that I have somehow managed to survive, I have only faced one question that can simultaneously elicit fear, hatred and deep exhaustion. One question that sends my pulse racing, makes me sweat in places I didn’t know that I could, and makes me feel like my stomach is trying to claw its way out of me like the creature in that scene from “Alien”: “So, do you have a boyfriend yet?”

I have memories about being asked this question dating back from when I had entered sixth grade all the way up until the last time I was home on break as a junior at college, and the reaction is always the same. My adrenaline kicks up, ready to fight or flight my way out of this this situation, but I have to place a sweet, placating smile on my face instead and reply: “Oh, no. Not yet!”

From this point, things either get slightly worse or become absolutely unbearable. In the case of the former, the person asking is kind enough to accept my response, forcing us to simply sit in uncomfortable silence, shifting in our seats and avoiding making eye contact until one of us is able to find a way to change the subject or make a hasty escape. With the latter, however, the person takes my response as a chance to ask even more annoyingly personal and irrelevant questions about my love life. They ask, “Well, have you at least been seeing people? A girl like you should be fending them off with a stick!” to which I can only reply, “Ah! Ha Ha. Ha. Well…” and shrug my shoulders as if to imply that they’re right, I have been actively batting away pursuers with brute force. In fact, can you hand me the nearest blunt object? I think I have one gnawing on my ankle right now!

I also immensely enjoy the response, “Well, don’t worry! Someday you’ll find someone!” because I am definitely not worried. There’s a lot more going on in my life than just wondering when someone will come along and make me “an honest woman” (or whatever the current narrative about love that Hollywood made up is). Really, there’s just not enough time in a day for me to worry about dating, let alone actually date. I’ve got a bunch of movies I still need to see! Honestly, my Netflix queue is unreal right now. Plus, I’m trying to spend more hours of the day napping. Also, I want to increase the hours I spend laying face-down on the floor in existential crisis. I also wanna learn to cook and I just bought a new slide whistle that I have to break in. Oh, right, and there’s college. So, like, really. Finding someone just kinda isn’t a priority.

My favorite unwelcome response to my perpetual state of being single is: “Well, a girl like you should be getting out there and exploring her options! You don’t want to miss your chance, do you?” I absolutely adore this one because not only does it enforce the idea that there is something that I “should” be doing (according to who?) instead of what I am doing (just living my life), it implies that whatever I am “doing” is apparently wrong. And if being single at 20 is wrong then there must be something wrong with me, right? The problem with this is that it entirely ignores my own agency. Assuming that there’s something inherently wrong with me that makes me “undateable” completely ignores the possibility that it’s my own decision to be alone. By entirely erasing the option that one could choose to be alone, this kind of thinking reinforces the notion that no one would ever choose to be alone, ever, and that other people must be out there actively deciding that they just aren’t worth their time. This mode of thought only leads to hurt and self-doubt.

When people ask me questions about my dating life, I’d like to ask some questions of my own, like: why is it so bad that someone should want to be alone? Why is choosing to be alone such an outlandish possibility that our minds immediately jump to there being some fatal flaw that makes them unwanted?

And why do we automatically assume that if someone is alone, they must be waiting idly by for someone else to come around and make them “complete?” Why are people not seen for their whole value if they’re alone? Why is it sad when someone sees a movie by themselves or goes to dinner by themself? Why is it so bad to like yourself, to want to be in your own company more than share the company of someone else constantly? Why can we only consider ourselves truly successful if we have someone attached to us romantically?

In the end, just stop asking about my relationship status. Stop making it out to be such an important concept because that has only led to it becoming intrinsically related to self-worth. Instead, ask me about my day. Ask me about my job. Ask me about Matthew McConaughey. Ask me about when Matthew McConaughey won an Oscar, about how I felt when they gave the dude from “Ghosts of Girlfriends Past” and “Failure to Launch” an Oscar. (Please ask me this, I beg you.)

One last thought as I end this long-winded rant: I cannot wait for people to read this and think, “Wow, she must just be super lonely.” For those of you to whom this applies, I thank you greatly for missing the point.