Sex and the City taught me that it's super hip and trendy to be a young single woman in New York. At least until I'm 35 or so. I haven't had a problem being single since moving back to New York. Bars and online sites are full of single 20- and 30-somethings (and Rhianna even made it cool to admit singledom in public). But when Valentine's Day rolls around, suddenly the rules all change. Every morning, I emerge from the subway near my office and am slapped in the face with a gigantic sign strategically placed in front of the local florist counting down the number of days until V-Day. Do they think the hundreds of subway riders walking up those stairs each morning won't notice the oversized hearts, roses, and other red and pink flowers cluttering the flower shop windows? Do we REALLY need a sign effectively saying "Just 10 more days until everyone around you gets to eat cheap chocolate and celebrate a day of love with another human while you sit at home with your netflix"? (Note I do not actually feel sad about being single. I just think spontaneous showings of love are way better than obligatory roses on an arbitrary date. But what do I know?).
I should also note that I am being judged by medical professionals for being single. I was at the dentist last week, explaining (and learning about) my occasional nighttime tooth grinding and jaw clenching (in times of stress, that is), when my (new) dentist asked if I have a significant other. I looked at him like he was crazy for asking such a thing at such a time, and answered "no, doctor, I do not have a significant other," and he looked slightly apologetic as he responded, "oh, well sometimes if there's someone else in the bed, the other person can hear the clicking of the jaw." I said, "oh, good to know." what I wanted to say was, "you asked if I have a significant other, not whether someone else sleeps in my bed from time to time!" Such totally different questions, but I refrained. I figured asking him about every tool he picked up and joking with the technician whenever my mouth was free of apparati was enough for him to have to handle during my first visit. There's always next time.
This morning I found a grey hair mixed in among my bangs. I had a haircut scheduled for today, and I knew I absolutely had to get rid of the grey before making my appearance at a new salon. I mean what would my new stylist (can I call her that even if all she did was a trim and blow dry?) say if I showed up for our first meeting with a grey hair? I feel like that'd be the equivalent of going to the dentist without brushing my teeth first. Such a person would be fodder for gossip the rest of the day. Anyhoo, I've heard that pulling out a grey hair makes three more grow in its place. That can't actually be true, right? I risked it. I guess now we'll just have to wait and see.
Have I mentioned that my Four Point Plan is going remarkably well? Well, it is. With a few minor setbacks, of course. For instance, I sent in two applications, both of which caused great joy and excitement, only to discover the next day that one of the positions had already been filled. (It was listed as available the day I submitted my application and then filled the next day, and I had a brief irrational moment of thinking I was the one filling the position, and I just hadn't been told yet. If that's the case, I still have not been told. I'm not holding my breath.) but there are lots more applications where that one came from (yeah!), and I have faith that I will soon(ish) be free of the golden handcuffs! Hurrah!
Tonight I dined with Small Asian Friend, Boston Brit, the Bride, and several others at this very cute, very delicious place in Brooklyn called Juliette. Go there. You won't regret it. Especially if you order the pear dessert. I think Brooklynites are my people. I already own so much flannel, I think I should probably just move there. But then when I think about the fact that men with beards don't exactly do it for me, I start to reconsider. But, oh! Independent coffee shops and hole in the wall restaurants and live music everywhere (oh my!). Now if only the city learned to plow the streets of Williamsburg as thoroughly as Wall Street, we'd be in business. Maybe someday.
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