I’m single this Valentine’s Day, and according to Romantic Comedy Law, I’m required to spend the holiday eating cookie dough ice cream, crying and adopting a 79th cat.
I’m not going to do any of that. Not only because I’m actually a dog person, but also because I’m pretty much single by choice. Why? Because I loathe dating down to the very core of my being.
Everything about a first date sucks. The requisite Starbucks meet-up. (Because nothing says romance like coffee breath.) The “Who pays? Should you pay? Do I pay?” awkward wallet dance. The inevitable weird story bomb.
It’s easier and 700 times more enjoyable for me to just spend Friday nights on my own — watching movies, taking advantage of the empty grocery store, playing with my dog, reading a book.
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But, unfortunately, Mr. Right isn’t going to just show up on my couch. (And if he did, that would be utterly creepy.) If I want to find someone who likes to yell all the answers to “Jeopardy!,” make up stories about other people at restaurants, and re-enact the “Top That” routine from “Teen Witch” (or is at least able to put up with the fact that I like all those things), I’m going to have to get out, endure those crappy dates and meet people.