A Single Man

*ding*

Is that…? No. Just another app update notification.

*ding*

Is that it?…no…just a reminder for a facebook event.

*ding*

Is that it?…YES!! FIN-A-FUCKING-LY!

 

Congratulations you have a new match on Tinder’.

 

Alright, what should I say? ‘Hey, how is it going?’ No. Every socially-inept, marginally overweight bottom feeder like you uses that one. How about ‘Hey, how has your Tuesday been?’ No, can’t do that, it might be Wednesday or Thursday by the time she reads it.

Ok, got it.

Hey, have I seen you before? I think we had that tute or we met that one time at that party with that person who did that thing and you told me that thing about the person with the other thing and the thing’s dog?’

Are you kidding me?

Hey, how has your day bene?’ Perfect. No, wait there is a spelling mistake. Goddammit it’s too late. It’s sent. She’s never going to reply now. She’s probably showing it to all her friends. Now none of them are going to swipe right. Maybe one will. Maybe one of them will find your flaws endearing?

Ok, it’s been 3 minutes, why hasn’t she replied? They are all probably laughing at me right now. Maybe it’s my hairy chest THAT is why no one has replied.

Well that’s just rude. I can’t help that.

It’s been 6 minutes now, WHY WON’T YOU REPLY? Maybe I should send another message…

As I go into my second annual ‘feelslightlyawkwardasIaccidentallythirdwheelallofmyfriends’ day, or Valentine’s Day for most of you, as a single man, I decided to reflect on what Friday the 14th means to me.

Everyone’s favourite Hallmark Holiday can be a time of conflicting confusions for those of us who don’t have someone to lie in bed with, playing the ‘I love you’ game and violently knocking out every last brain cell through unmitigated foreplay. Instead, some of us have to lie alone, watching re-runs of The Nanny and crying into a family sized bucket of Cookies & Cream.

On one hand, I work in hospitality. I get to witness every idiot who decides that V-day is a good day to have a first date, and ends up sitting there floundering in awkwardness.  On the other hand, there is something hugely demoralising about sitting in the pub with all your other, lonely friends and desperately discussing that recent game of Sportsball in an effort to distract oneself from crippling loneliness.

But ultimately, when it comes to Valentines, there is only one thing I can bring myself to feel: St.Valentine is generally accepted to be a 8th Century Spanish Catholic martyr who was killed trying to convert Islamic occupants.

I fail to see how that copy of ‘The Notebook’ and the set of cufflinks you just bought each other have any relevance to that.