Why does it feel like I end up doing all the emotional labor as well as having to make sure I am turned on when it’s time for sex and run the household mostly alone? We’ve been sold the Disney love story with the heroic, all-capable man and are disappointed that reality doesn’t work that way. But if you’re single, you’re unfinished. If you’re content and single, there’s something wrong with you. “Find him!” they say. “He’s so close, I can feel it.”
I love being single and I want to be in a relationship. I enjoy other humans but I don’t want to deal with their weird ablutions and habits. I want to live in a flat by myself with my husband next door. I want to be wildly independent except for when I have to carry 500 books up three flights of stairs or need my washing machine replaced. Then I want my boyfriend to do it.