"Since when is it glamorous to be single?" Viv asked, over fried gobi and delicious, fragrant basmati rice.
Since 1998.
Ever heard of a show called Sex and the City? Being single-ish is glamorous in the Big City, don't you know? You get to plunk down $500 for a pair of shoes that kill your feet, drink endless cosmos, and complain about how men are too complicated. You get to eat at exotic restaurants -- because being single means eating out more -- and throw wine-tasting parties and spend lots of time investing in yourself. You get to do the whole therapy thing, too. Fashionably so!
A relationship would only ruin things. Because then you'd have to put up with his less-than-perfect hygiene, his dirty clothes scattered all over, the way he handles money. Yuck! He won't understand why you must have that handbag or those shoes or an expensive pair of sexy jeans; He'll want you to make home-cooked meals, do his laundry, cut his hair.
Where's the glamor in that?
I dipped my cauliflower in the sweet tamarind sauce and took a big bite. "When being married became boring," I said instead.
We ate, we debated, we went home. She, the Married Woman, and me the Single Girl. She was going home to a devoted husband, a cute beagle, and a nice, big home. I was going home to work, a laptop, and a vibrator.
Somehow the glamor got lost along the way.