After having one too many vodka crans, my friend has lowered her flirting from sex-driven banter to a string of incoherent emojis. Being the good friend that I am, I saved her from blowing her chances to blow a guy who looked like the fourth Hemsworth brother by taking over the text and flirting myself. Not to brag about my own capabilities, but the guy who was previously taking twenty minutes to respond was suddenly double texting.
“How did you learn how to do that?” my friend drunkenly asked. She explained by saying, “I just assumed…you know, that you must have forgotten how to flirt with guys by now.”
After two years of dating Alex, I’m afraid that my friends have started to perceive me as the “mother” (or even worse, the grandmother) of the group. When we met in first year, I was a bit of a wild child, and, to this day, my friends regularly spill the stories I told them “about last year” during our Sunday hungover brunches. I’ve assumed, at this point, they no longer want to hear my stories of my Saturday night. As wild as it could have been, it now always has the same ending. To a bunch of single girls, gushing over your boyfriend surprising you with flowers after a long day at work sounds like a flat out brag to them. Unlike what I was led to believe from various rom coms and daytime television shows, we don’t jump up and down holding hands when Alex does something romantic for me. Instead, I usually receive a side eye if I’m lucky, and an hour of them complaining about being single if I’m not.
I’m not trying to imply anything negative about my friends. They’re amazing people, who aren’t pieces of shit who stopped hanging out with me once I gave into monogamy. I would like to believe that we love each other just as much but I can’t help that I’m treated a bit differently. I’ve worked hard to prevent Alex and me from becoming the couple who ignores everyone but each other, orders Seamless, watches television every night, and only does missionary. But on the odd night that we ditch the borderline orgy at a club for a more relaxed environment, I’m constantly reminded of how different I am now from how I was in my glory days.
Most of my single friends have admitted to me that they go to the bar in hopes of meeting someone who could eventually become their boyfriends. On many occasions, I have sat across from my friends at Sunday morning brunch and listened to them carry on about the “connection” and “crazy chemistry” they had with their one-night stand the night before. As they list to me all of the qualities that he has that make him “boyfriend material” (sidenote: boys, if you make your bed, you’ve essentially become a prince in a girl’s eyes) I can’t help but wonder: if getting a boyfriend is the end game of all of this, then why do we shame those who essentially won and got to the end?
While I may not have as many stories to tell and I may skip out on the occasional bar night to have a quiet one at home, I’m relatively still the same sort of cool person I was in my single days. I guess there might be no real way to please everyone when you are in a relationship. Inevitably, one of your friends won’t like your boyfriend or the time that you spend with him. However, during your next single-spell, the same friend might be telling you how desperately she wants to see you happy and with someone.
If all of your single friends are whining about how they wished they had someone to cuddle with and in the same breath tell you that you were more fun when you were single (and whining *with* them), just remember, misery loves company..
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crazygirlfriend
Hiding from my mother and standards, both of whom would disown me if they heard most of these stories. Aspiring law school student, with a chihuahua named Bruiser and a head of unnatural blonde hair. Email me your "crazy" stories or any mixed drink recipes that taste like juice, but have copious amounts of vodka in them at crazygirlfriend.tsm@gmail.com Watch the bitch behind these stories at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vrp2D9h3SMk&t=67s
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