Oct. 23, 2011, 5:02 p.m.
I have to tell you from the start that I was completely happy being single.
Well into my late thirties, to me, relationships were complications; at least, that’s the way they looked from the outside. My friends worried about how much they were expected to change for their sigs, what plans they had to scrap, what books they had to read and diet they needed to stick to. Then there was the reverse, where they complained that their sigs had bad habits, problematic career paths, and unfortunate family members, all of which needed to be managed. Then they wondered why I seemed so content about not having a boyfriend.
The longest relationship I had ever been in was five months, three of which were spent trying to end it without bloodshed. I was living in D.C. at the time, and we had a blizzard that winter. We probably would have ended it earlier, but it’s hard to run out in 4-foot snowdrifts with the Metro shut down.