I am "that single friend".
I go to my best friends' family functions and they ask me, "Mikaela, don't you have a boyfriend yet?" I smile timidly, my MAC covered lips forming into a thin line. I tell them "no" like I always do around the holidays. They smirk awkwardly and change the conversation while I pick lazily at my mashed potatoes.
It's not that boys don't like me - it's that I (usually) don't like them. In the summer I am free as a bird. I sing(le) my way to the beaches in my one piece swimsuit (I am not ashamed). I walk the hot pavement, sweat pouring down my cheeks and my melting foundation dripping along the bridge of my nose.
But then autumn begins. And I find myself texting him.
Ah, the horror. The chaos. The mayhem. I am weak and I hate myself for it. But I imagine snuggling myself at his side. We drink cocoa and we throw snowballs at each other. In my sleep, I kiss him in a snow covered woods and - ah!
Strike me down! For I am the most foolish woman alive!
This is the life of a single and (usually) independent woman during the dreaded "cuffing season". This is a Shakespearean tragedy: " Taming of the Shrew 2.0 ".
Beginth the fall.
Act I: The "cuffing victim" (this is you) is at Thanksgiving dinner. This is a notorious evening for that one question: "Do you have a boyfriend yet?" It makes its appearance in the form of an overly, concerned aunt. The clock is ticking - the question implies - I was pregnant at your age. You feel tears begin to swell in your eyes. Change the subject, victim! Change it...now.
Act II: Your best friend has a boyfriend and now she's annoying. You are at the mall and she is goggling over a pair of lacy, see-through lingerie. It's beautiful. It's an emerald color. It has diamonds attached to it, for the love of God. Then she does it: she takes a picture and sends it to her boyfriend. "For Christmas? Hint, hint..." it says. And just when you think it couldn't get any worse, he replies within 0.2 seconds.
Act III:THE SETTING - your parents' living room. Your sister's girlfriend can't make it to the Thanksgiving dinner. She whines, "I miss my honey!" while you watch "White Christmas". And as much as you adore your sister-in-law and wish she were here too, you want to slap your sister in the face. Victim, do not text him. I know you want to, but he, literally, couldn't care less about your sad "cuffing" side-effects.
Act IV: It's the first snowfall of the season. Such a magical time. You're snuggled in bed for the whole morning, trying to forget that no one is waking up by your side. And at night, when the town's lights are illuminating the crystals flying through the air, you're standing in the center of the road with nothing but your puffy coat and cute, knitted hat. You're screaming into the night, "SOMEONE. SOMEONE. ANYONE. LOVE ME." Just remember your feminist instincts - mama raised you better.
Act V: When helping mama cook Thanksgiving dinner, you have to keep internally shouting: "One day, you'll be the matriarch of the family. Your husband will come soon and you will have cute, blue-eyed babies. Promise."
Act VI: When you're out with friends, you keep a watchful eye. You even look out for men/women at your parents' friends' Christmas parties. "Nope. I don't care if there's people more than thirty years my senior here. I'm looking." Besides, what's wrong with an older partner? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.
Listen, it's okay to be annoying during "cuffing season". It's our way of coping. We deal with it. You're free to imagine magical scenarios, even if you know they won't come true. (I'm still waiting for a man to show up at my door-step on Christmas Eve, "Bridget Jones' Diary" style.) And, you know what? Christmas is a time for miracles. Maybe I will get a Darcy this year.
Fingers crossed.
