See exhibit A (above). No, this is not a Christmas party; it's my housemates and me on our way out to a stoplight party. Available? Wear green. Taken? Wear red. Don't get me wrong. I like green. I love green. But suddenly in this context, green sucks.
London for me was an extreme form of being single. Not only did I lack a special someone, I also lacked friends. Don't cry for me, Argentina, because it had its benefits. I thought about me, what I wanted to do, what I needed, what I wanted to eat. All the time. No consideration of other people and guiltless selfishness are surprisingly liberating. I'm exaggerating, but hopefully you get my point. Living in a self-centered world gets old.
In some ways, it's great that my generation has shifted the life timeline down five years or so. Ten years ago, I would be openly panicking about my single status, fearful of becoming an old maid. Instead, I get to excitedly plan my career, work hard for upward mobility, and focus on myself while fearing becoming an old maid in secret! In this more feminist era, we're taught that these goals, rather than marriage, are what's important. And they are. I'm happy to feel successful and ambitious and interesting as my own person. But damn biology! We're also wired to partner up.
Why can't feminism be more welcoming to discontent about flying solo (maybe it does and I'm just ignorant)? After all, isn't it just biology? I'm a strong, independent woman who would prefer to be a strong independent woman WITH an awesome partner in crime.
So as senior year progresses and fantasies of meeting prince(ss) charming in college fade away, I say (and I'm sure some of my single friends say it too)... fuck green. In the meantime, find me reading books, becoming incredibly intelligent, and being the happiest single person on the Eastern seaboard.
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