The Single Leppor

I experienced the single torture on Saturday night.
Friends, who are now linked to the Previous Friends I Used to Dine With Category of my social mind, shafted myself and 5 single girls to the end of a table.
Bek and I (who is factually the only friend I give permission to read...and is actually dating a 21st Century version of James Dean) arrived 20 minutes late, had Loz rearrange the table so we could sit with her, and spoke excitedly with the Birthday Girl over our outfits and shoes. In come couple number 31...and suddenly the perfect night is whisped up into a furry of seat shifting. I'm not sure if it was the Birthday Girl or Nick-The-Dick who I have had hideously disgusting experience with, that forced us from the table with our friends, in favour of couple #31. It doesn't really matter. Fact is, we were placed, at the end of the three tables of our 'closest friends' and their husband-boyfriends-fiances, with the other 3 late comer singles. And one by one, we realised we were the single table.

I guess in moments such as these when you want to through a Prima Donna tantrum and storm out like a Maria Carey, composure and cocktails and fake smiles are all you can do. And so we sipped out Martini's and Cosmo's flirted with the Black English Waiter and pretended we didn't want to leave, in favour of some 'single party' where 'poor single people' mingle.

And thus, my conclusion is, I dislike couples. I vow, never to be That Couple. To many friends are falling subject to that fate. Those who vowed they never would when we were single girls sharing Champers and Hot Tubs late at night. (Bek, for the record you are not in this category!)

I will be an inclusive couple. I will be friends with all the singles who feel like lepper's and aliens. The world is cruel to us socially deformed girls without a boy's arm or wallet for support.

Did Sex and the City teach us nothing?