The greatest part of being single is the chicken. Hear me out.
When I was married (and then in subsequent relationships), I would often buy those yummy delicious rotisserie chickens from Kroger for dinner for us. They are quite literally one of my most favorite things in the world. The first time I bought one of those whole chickens as a single girl I legit rejoiced. BOTH drumsticks were mine. BOTH wings. All the best parts of the chicken. And I didn’t have to share it with ANYONE. I swear I could hear the trumpets sound.
As I sit here in the aftermath of yet another failed attempt at a thing (I mean, can we even call three months a relationship?), there are a lot of things I’m pondering. It’s easy to get caught up in the blame game. Usually this is the point when I start really beating myself up and obsessing over every little mistake and each anxious outburst, but that’s not helpful. The good news is that this time I have finally found a few resources that are helping me discern what actually happened as it relates to me. And it’s giving me tools for any future relationships. I have homework, I have some takeaways and for that I am truly grateful.
Yes, there is work to do. And yes, I am doing it. But for now … for now, I am single. And there are SO many things to rejoice about. For starters, the chicken. The WHOLE chicken.
As a woman who once broke it off with a guy who ate food off her plate (multiple times without asking AND while using his bare hands), I cannot stress the value of this enough.
Also, it’s getting cold outside in Dallas finally. Now that no one will be seeing me naked anytime soon, it’s time to don some sweats and forget the razor and my god, that is glorious. GLORIOUS. I mean, not to say it gets like crazy wolf-like on my legs or anything, but it’s nice to not have that as a top concern when I’m getting ready in the morning. Plus, it’s warmer. (NOTE: yes, a warm body to cuddle with would be warmer than leg fur but I do have two very precious dogs to snuggle with and they were honestly feeling a little jealous/neglected).
Also, there’s the beauty of your schedule being your own. Which for me means that when some friends say, hey you wanna meet up for a drink or dinner, my answer is yes yes yes. It’s liberating to not have to accommodate someone else’s schedule. I find that in relationships, especially in the beginning stages, I tend to be the one that loses more sleep and has my schedule compromised in order to see the other person. Now that’s not their fault entirely. I get super duper excited (then I get super duper anxious) and I definitely give WAY too much of my time and myself without many boundaries or without requiring the other person to put forth the same effort. Part of that homework I have to do before my next attempt, eh? But for now, it’s nice. No more missing workouts or losing sleep just so I can see the person I’m trying to build something with. And most especially, no more missing prime opportunities to dance.
Which brings me to one of my most favorite things to do as a single girl. Dancing. More specifically, swing dancing.
In my neighborhood, there’s this cool little joint called the Sons of Hermann Hall. (I don’t know all that much about the history of the Sons of Hermann but if you’re into that kind of stuff: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sons_of_Hermann.) On Wednesday nights, this adorable, hella old two story bar hosts a beginner’s swing dance class at 8 pm after which there is a social dance from 9-midnight. A few years ago, a girlfriend of mine invited me. I was pretty new to going out and hadn’t explored my neighborhood all that much yet. When I visited Sons for the first time, I fell immediately in love – it’s like stepping back into the 50s. Girls in cute swishy dresses, rickety hard wood everywhere, classic Sinatra and other tunes in the air, a bar that looks more like a saloon with crazy cheap drink prices. And my god, the dancing.
Now before you go saying things like, oh I can’t dance, I couldn’t do that, lemme tell you I felt the same way. I’m a notorious awkward klutz. Plus I’m nearly 6 ft tall. Like … my center of gravity is all kinds of wonky. And I’m not that bright or intuitive when it comes to dance moves just in general. (Remind me to tell you of the hip-hop class I took for a few months … epic hilarious fail) Luckily my new friend drug me along anyway and when the beginners class was over she pushed me to dance with all the guys she knew. These men ranged in ages from 30 something up to 70. And they were good. Like really really good. I was TERRIFIED but these men were the best teachers. It was so simple really and by the end of the first night I was hooked. I mean, I was still pretty terrible as a dancer (quite frankly, I still AM terrible) but truly it didn’t matter. The guys were/are such good leads they covered up my mistakes.
This … this was magic to me. It IS magic to me. I had no idea such a place existed. This meeting ground of young and old, vintage and modern. Men who ask for your hand to dance, even if they don’t know your name. I am still in awe of it when I go. The twirling, the lights, the music. It reminds me of a charming old movie, where women were graceful and elegant, and men were gentlemen who wooed the hearts of their ladies through song and dance. So much swoon.
This is the beauty of singledom. All the new things and experiences and people you’re open to meeting while being alone. If I had been in a relationship when I met the girl who took me to this wonderful place, there’s a good chance I would’ve never checked it out. At least at that point in my life. But being single is an adventure, if you’re open to it. And I’m so glad that I was.
So, as I again reflect on the ending of a thing, I look forward to the many new things and beginnings of things that I will get to experience. And to quote the beautiful George (Rupert Everett) from My Best Friend’s Wedding:
“Maybe there won’t be marriage… maybe there won’t be sex… but, by God, there’ll be dancing.”
Sex and the Big D 