Warning: This is not a pity post. Neither is it a smart-arse piece inspired by ‘Sex and the City’. Don’t trust me, well read away then.
If we’re friends, you’d know that I am a serious coffeeholic (I’m getting treated for it, don’t worry). If you’re casually visiting my blog baby (shame on you for not being regular), then you need to know three things about me – I wear really bright shoes, I laugh a lot and drink way too much coffee. When the three collide, it’s rather amusing. You might even pay to be around me on those special days. Grab a seat and watch me do the buzzing dance, why don’t you?
But getting back to important things, a few months ago, an international publication published an opinion piece written by me about coffee and baristas. Haven’t read it yet? It’s okay, everyone makes silly life decisions – click HERE to read the piece. You’ll smile, I promise.
When the article went live on CNNGo.com, I was sitting in a cafe (obviously). I had my frozen fingers wrapped around my bowl of cappuccino, I opened the webpage and my reaction to the “edited” piece was a BIG, loud laugh.
I laughed. I got teary. I laughed again in ridicule. I swelled up in disgust.
This reaction was not a follow-up to my article, but to the chosen sub-heading and title of the article. On an universal level (CNNGo is read is in over 10 countries), I was given the title of a “lonely girl”. It didn’t just limit itself to the webpage, but spread across social media too. Tweets, Facebook status updates – it was everywhere with my name attached to it.
Journalistically, I was very happy with my article but I didn’t know what was a socially acceptable reaction to the heading – laugh or cry? That’s all I could see – it was staring at me. I thought it was pretty funny that my editor thought I was ‘lonely’ for considering being friends with the man who makes my coffee. But does that make me a loner? Too many questions and too much contemplation.
I moved to Sydney only a few months ago and even though I wouldn’t tag myself as ‘lonely’, I do spend my weekends drinking wine and watching ‘Under the Tuscan Sun’ on repeat.
This is also because there isn’t a guy in the horizon. There – I said it.
But that gives me the ‘single’ and ‘making new friends’ status – not lonely. Which is why, I decided to shortlist things I’ve learnt in the past six months of moving to a new city while enjoying singleton. Surely not everyone in the city is hooked.
This IS Sydney, after all. Stereotype says men get bored of their ladies really quick and the ladies are too career-driven to commit to a man.
So here are 11 things I’ve learnt, cherished and embraced as a single girl in this spanking city.
- Having a bathroom and toilet to yourself is the most rewarding aspect of living. Seat always remains down and you’re the Queen of the toilet.
- Untoasted muesli + Chia seeds + flaxseed oil + almonds = you never have to cook again. It can be eaten for breakfast, lunch, dinner, midnight snack, hangover hog, a drunken meal or even when you’re dying.
- The process of removing bed sheets for a wash and then putting them back on is a hardcore cardio activity. Guaranteed 500+ calories burn.
- Your gym trainer knows your sleeping pattern but doesn’t know your name.
- A ferry ride becomes the perfect getaway on a lazy Saturday afternoon. And eavesdropping tourists’ conversation has never been more entertaining.
- You start buying flowers for yourself and eventually get them for free because the florist knows the reason. He also might be a creepy Italian, but that’s not the point.
- Dreaming about a fluffy puppy and a hot man on the same night is never sinful. Never ever.
- You start mastering the art of ‘Table for One’. You have more confidence, exuberance and get more respect from waiters.
- Finishing an entire bottle of Shiraz on a Friday night is as easy as putting on underwear.
- The fortnightly waxing ritual now becomes a monthly session. Sometimes even after six weeks. But shhh, don’t tell the ‘downstairs’ fairy or even Santa, for that matter.
- You exercise your creative mind by complaining about your hypothetical boyfriend’s infidelity dramas to strangers on the train. They take you seriously and abuse your boyfriend. You take them seriously and start crying. Fun… all fun!
You tell me – can you relate with any of these? Is your pantry full of wine and cheese? How do you celebrate being ‘single’?