Table For One?

Tonight I decided to drive to the next town and go out for dinner hansolo after dropping my grandparents off at the bowling club. They evidently have a far greater social life than i do with their regular drinking and gambling (how fucking badass is that for two old codgers?!) but that's another story for another day.

When I walked into the restaurant, the waitress gave me this kind of funny kind of judgeymcjudgealots look and asked,

"Hi there, is it just a table for one or....oh...yeah you're alone hey..."

We walk over to my booth.

"...it must be hard going out alone?"

Yes bitch. I'm all alone in the world, husbandless and childless, I'm failing miserably at this shit, should I just go slit my wrists now? or you could keep plunging that dagger into my heart?

"No, I'm used to doing things on my own"
"...oh. well that's lucky then. I'll be back shortly with your menus...menu. .."

So that was how my night/life went. And usually I kind of laugh it off, but lately I've noticed every fucker and his dog has had an opinion about the fact that my ovaries are shriveling up every second of every day that my womb lies dormant. You'd think they'd be fucking high fiving my ass for not having 59 million kids to 59 million different fathers, but even THAT girl is apparantly winning at life more than me. When did being single and spawnless become such a social taboo? It's almost like telling people you've got the AIDS when you admit to being the ripe old age of 28 and alone, people sort of start visualizing what's wrong with you and where.

But how the bloody hell am I doing worse now that I'm alone, then when i was in a disgusting excuse for a relationship with the absolute wrongest of all wrong man for me? I'm actually a little better off single because I'm only the one step away from the dream man with the white picket fence and two and a half kids and ugly little dog that barks incessantly at everything that passes by the front door including clouds until i accidentally back over it, rather than being three steps (breakup, meltdown, move on/fuck shit up) if i stayed with someone that didn't happy me. But society doesn't see it that way. And that reeeeeeally tousles the hairs on my rage boner.

So to all you cuntpunches that look at us table-for-oners like we're missing two fucking arms or something, just no, ok?! If you're locked down and popping sproglets out like ping pong balls in an Asian stripclub, then kudos to you dude, but don't for one second think that you're doing better than us one man wolfpacks.

Just remember, I don't have to hide or share my chocolate, or get out of bed before lunch on the weekend, or stand in the rain watching some bullshit kids soccer game, or watch the fucking wiggles ten times in a row, or prepare meals that require more effort than 2 minute noodles, or wash my husband's stinky socks and dirty jocks. So who's the Charlie Sheen now huh?! That's right. I'm winning (i don't have the AIDS).

Until next time,
Ruby xx