Do you ever notice as a single person invited to dinner partys or drinks, you feel like it is all in the guise of being set up or offered a platter of men (female writing here)—most of which turn out to be rotten or just not suitable to your taste palate. You get to these event and suddenly you are overwhelmed with the desire not to care but also be alert and on the prowl. “Mr. Right could just be here any moment,” your friends entice you to these events and to stay stuck at a lame party when the whole time, you’re thinking you could be snuggled in bed with Netflix. Instead, when I go, I end up feeling like an awkward teenager walking into a school gym transformed into some silly themed dance, hoping someone—good grief, anyone!—would ask me to dance. I felt nearly as pathetic as Samantha mooning over Jake in 16 Candles.
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Writings and Travels of Lina Em