I took a quiz this morning, “Is Your Life a RomCom?” (psht, don’t start with me, I actually don’t have better things to do). Needless to say, my life is anything but. If my life were a movie it would be a mediocre comedy that doesn’t really have a plot. Anyways, while taking said quiz, I was asked if I had a friend/sidekick whose love life basically revolved around my own. Cue in an epiphany: I’M THE SIDEKICK!
I’m that friend that’s either always single or dating the most irrelevant guys ever. I swear to God, it’s like I’m attracted to men that have the personality of a clam. In short, my love life is basically a fifteen second commercial break from my friends’ thrilling relationships. Honestly, my exes could look like actual cartoon versions of Scary Terry and no one would notice.
I’m the alone-but-never-lonely friend, cynicism and all, cats pending. My “person” is my Netflix account and the deepest sexual awakening I’ve had lately has been with the butt imprint on my couch. But I’m fine with all of this, until someone dares to say to me, “I can’t believe you’re single; you’re such a catch!” Bitch, I will punch you in the neck.
Here’s the irony to all of this. I lost a bunch of weight to make myself more attractive to the population of the world: the contemporary form of peacocking is basically a gym membership. Have I had any success? Well, if you take into account the random dick pick sent to my mom by a middle aged Facebook creeper, then I guess you could say I’ve been pretty in demand lately (whatever’s hers is mine?).
New Year’s Resolution? Make butt imprint smaller.