SOCKS AND THE CITY: THE SECRET JOY OF SINGLETONS

At left: Me      At right: Sock
I really don't think it's that hard to 
tell us apart. The markings are quite distinct. 
Nor do I see what is so troubling about 
seeing either of us on our own ... although a 
lone sock does raise the troubling question:
 "But what will the other foot do?"

Is it just me or is there is something about single people that drives coupled-up people absolutely bonkers? We seem to evoke the same reaction in them that crippled birds or orphaned puppies do. They want to cuddle us, fix us, make things right. "Gosh, that's so sad. She has no one to go home to and cook for." (Our little secret: WE  friggin' LOVE THAT about our life!) 

Others seem to view us as a hobby. 
"Oh, I know the perfect guy for you!" (No, trust me, you don't. I'm still disinfecting myself from that last "perfect guy" you introduced me to.) 
Still others look on us as something of a threat. "Oh-ho-ho no, she ain't bringing her single-girl ass over here to go giving our perfectly trained husbands ideas. They must never be allowed a glimpse of the life they left behind. Wives! That's what we want to be surrounded with! WIVES!"

Whatever the reason, as soon as a coupled-up friend finds out I'm unattached, she (it's always a she, guys totally get that maybe we don't want to be tied down at the moment) is consumed with a sudden and uncontrollable urge to pair me up.

My dear well-meaning friends: pairing up is for socks. For people, it is okay, sometimes even FANTASTIC, to run around solo for awhile. We are not bereft and useless without a matching mate. We are not sitting at home in our pajamas, sad and alone and eating ice cream straight out of the container while we watch Sleepless in Seattle. (Ok, maybe yes to the ice cream and movie part...)  
You may be assuming that I would rather be in a relationship. Let me be clear on this: I would not. I spent the better part of my adult years in one relationship or another and I am enjoying (revelling in, actually) my newfound freedom.  
One day, I may come to my senses and decide it's time to find a matching sock. Or I may just run around with one naked foot for the entire rest of my life. Either way, it's okay. 
In the meantime, thank you for your concern and for your tireless efforts to find me a match. Now please stop.  

Editor's note: Are you sure? Because I know this really  nice guy . . . 
My note: And I know this really nice editor, who'll work for a lot less than you do. So watch yourself.