Hi, my name is Jane Adams and I am single.
Now for those of you who are head-over-heels, irrevocably, irrepressibly and slightly disgustingly in love and forgot what the word means, let me explain.
Single means you don't have a significant other in your life. It means when you go home at night you cuddle your body pillow and eat chocolate Yoplait Whips! yogurt. It means, in a nutshell, the only thing to distract you from watching The Office religiously each week is a talkative roommate or the need to pee.
Before you throw me into the category of ugly spinster, let me back up. I am past desperately weeping over nights left dateless, sipping on a bottle of flat Pepsi and watching Bridget Jones's Diary. I don't mind being a strong, independent and somewhat spastic 21-year-old single girl. In fact, I rather like doing what I want, when I want and how I want, without having to answer to one of the shaggy-haired indie boys that I normally go for.
That doesn't change the fact that I am a permanent third wheel. You see, my roommates, also known as my best friends, all have boyfriends. It doesn't stop there, either. As I sit here racking my brain for one friend that I speak to more than once a month without a Facebook-official relationship, I come up with zilch. Hence, my predicament as the permanent third wheel, constant charity hangout case, future dog woman and reluctant possible nun.
My situation is made more difficult by the place where I currently enroll in school. Namely, good old Ohio University, home of keggers, classes and couples. Not that every person at OU is one half of a Benniffer duo, but a good number are, which can make things hard for a single girl like me who wants to be free and still have fun.
So why would I want to share my embarrassing life with all of you? Shouldn't I be ashamed enough that I can't even get a date? Well, maybe I am writing this because I lost my last shred of pride and dignity when I walked into that parking meter the other day. Or it could also be because of my irrational hope that some young debonair school teacher will see my column, fall desperately in love with me and come rushing to the baseball field to kiss me right as the last second ticks off the clock like in Never Been Kissed. Yeah, it could be those things, but it's not.
I am writing this column because I am not embarrassed about being single, because I know that I am not alone in needing a table for one and because I would like to show other people that they aren't alone either.
Being single can be hard in a world where everyone around you has date nights, make-out sessions and the occasional pregnancy scare. I mean, what's left for us single people to do when the taken ones are having all the fun?
The thing is, being single can be really fun and not because I can run around making out and messing up with anything that moves. No, being single can be fun without all those drunken hook-ups, and I like to think I am living proof of that. It's the first non-epic installment of my quest to show all the singles out there how to enjoy being a permanent third wheel, how to look at cute little couples and not care (much) and how to turn the word single from a scarlet letter to a promise of a happy life, free from the chains of relationship bliss. Or, if not happy, at least non-suicidal.
Jane Adams is a junior studying journalism and a columnist for The Post. Send her your obscure references to '90s movies at ja250406@ohiou.edu
4 Opinion
Jane Adams
