Stop Asking Me If My Friends Are Single


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Stop Asking Me If My Friends Are Single

After a boring few weeks of winter break, my friends and I had planned to go to the club together. After my ritualistic hour of getting ready plus hour of nitpicking myself in the mirror, I was feeling myself. My three friends and I chugged our cheap wine and hopped in an Uber, taking selfies and asking our driver about his home country (he offered the information, we weren’t being racist). As we were standing in line for the club, a guy came up to me. I put on my best “confident and sexy and definitely not obliterated” face. He leaned over, and this was our conversation:

Him: “Hey, your friend is cute.”
Me: “Thank you!”
Him: “Not you, you stupid bitch, I meant your friend!”
Him: *gets dragged away by apologetic friend while he steams with rage*

This was not the first time someone had said that to me. Yes, I’ve been called a stupid bitch before, but that’s not what this column is about. That night at the club, my friend and I were wearing nearly identical outfits. For Halloween, my basic best friend and I were “partners in crime” and someone asked me if the “cuter robber” was single. If I had a dollar for every guy who came up to me and asked if he could buy my friends a drink, every round would be on me. Forever. Why is it that I’m constantly used to get to my friends?

This little immature maneuver pigeonholes me as the perpetrator’s reluctant wingwoman. There has never been an instance where a random guy comes up to me to ask me about my friend and is overwhelmed by my beauty that he changes his mind after staring into my sweet baby blues. There has also never been and instance where a random guy comes up to me, asks me about my friend, and I happily oblige and I set them up and they have a beautiful night and morning after together. This goes one of one ways. A random guy asks me if my friend is single, I tell him no whether or not she is, and tell him to fuck himself. Is this partially because I’m jealous? Absolutely. My loud mouth and approachable face are getting everyone laid except for me. But mostly, I am looking out for my friends. They deserve a guy who will sack up and ask her to dance himself. I have given many an unwanted lecture to guys about how they are doing it all wrong. Girls want to be the first one the guy approaches so they get to share the news later, not get a note passed to them like we are back in junior high. “DTF? Check yes or no.”

This is not to say that I don’t like being the wingwoman for my friends. I love setting people up because if it works out, then they are forever indebted to me. Well, yeah, and they are happy and that makes me happy, but I mainly do it for the recognition. I don’t have that same loyalty to weenies in bars. The way I look at it, strangers find me easy to talk to, and that’s never a bad thing. My goofy and welcoming demeanor will work to my advantage one day. In the meantime, I will be the Mama Bear, protecting my pretty cubs from douchebags with terrible game. It seems to be my calling.

A born and raised Jersey girl, she can always be found covered in sand and pizza sauce. Her personal brand is "that girl." She prefers wine in bottles because she thinks outside of the box. Send fan mail to or by smoke signal.

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