As much as I enjoy parading around as a college student, the fact of the matter is that I am no longer an 18-year-old coed. While I do get a kick out of writing about frat parties, keggers, and bid days, the cold, hard, sad, depressing, makes-me-want-to-die truth is that I’m no longer in college–and I haven’t been for some time now. Instead of MIPs and the wrath of my father after a particularly bad credit card bill, I now have to worry about hiding my hangover at work–and the wrath of myself after a particularly bad credit card bill. While my location has changed, my friends have changed, my sleep schedule has changed, and my drinking habits have in no way changed, one thing has remained true: I am still unlucky in love.
Just as pretty much every other thing in life that steadfastly gets worse as you age (read: literally everything), being single gets progressively more and more awful with each passing year. No, seriously, it does. One day you’re going from Sweet Sixteens to Proms to date parties, and the next you’re attending engagement parties, weddings, and baby showers–alone. While it may seem awful to view your friends’ Facebook-official statuses and #bestboyfriendever Instagrams, I assure you that it will one day get worse. Because one day, my young, little single soldiers, your entire social media world will go from spring break pictures to photos of engagement rings and positive pregnancy tests. You’ll sift through the endless amounts of albums dedicated to happy couples, cake tastings, and exotic honeymoons and think to yourself, “Man, I wonder when it will be my turn. When do I get to be happy? Or at least pretend to be happy?” And that is when the work of the devil will answer you, otherwise known as an app that compares you to all of your taken friends–and gives you a countdown to the exact date of when you ideally would get married.
If you’re young and in college, this probably seems like a great little game to play. But postgrads, you’ve been warned: this is some seriously depressing shit. I linked the app, courtesy of TIME, with my Facebook and sat with baited breath as my results came to light: one year, three months, and 26 days. Fuck. Me.
Similar to the “Friends” episode where Rachel turns 30, I immediately started backward-planning my life. If I have 15 months until the date of my ideal wedding, then that means I need to get engaged in three months, which means I should’ve met my future husband no less than…a long fucking time ago. If you need me, I’ll be spending the rest of my life day crying over my wedding board on Pinterest. Godspeed, kiddos.