I woke to a drool and foundation splotched pillowcase. I didn't remember anything from the time after we ate dessert. I barely tasted that chocolate pie Kirsten was staring at all night.
     My head throbbed when I sat up, and I shuffled to the kitchen to down a glass of water before doing some damage control skincare. My mascara was smeared everywhere, and I looked somewhat like a panda. But nowhere near as cute.
     My skincare routine was typically the joy of my night. Ten steps, fifteen minutes where I devoted some TLC to myself. Last night I drank so much that I passed out without so much as changing my clothes. My new cocktail dress was crumpled, with deodorant ringing the armholes in white halos. I unzipped it and began to scrub at my face. My mascara was always hell to get off.
     I looked hard and long at my face in the mirror. I was puffy, with dark rings for under-eyes. I slapped on some eye cream and checked my phone while brushing my grimy teeth. No notifications. That wasn't unusual. I was single, and my friends were usually busy with their own lives. If I didn't live across the street from Em, I wouldn't have seen her nearly so much.
     I actually liked being single most of the time. I was hurt that Angela was implying it was a problem, that once fixed could instantly improve my life. For a split second I entertained the idea of calling Andromedon Technologies LLC. I quickly dismissed such an insane hangover thought, and changed into some lounge clothes. It was time to check my e-mail and squeeze in some work.
      My boss sent a memo to our entire team asking for writing tips for beginners. We would be posting the article next week on our website, and in the next month we would be launching a poetry contest. The prize was publication in a widely known writing journal. I clattered out my tips for editing and proofreading, the department I was in charge of, and asked to be sent a draft of the article before publishing. 
     Work was incredibly varied; anything from editing twenty page short stories to proofreading social media posts and marketing emails for the website/blog, It Feels Just Write. I applaud our boss herself for coming up with that delicious pun.
     Working from home was one of the many perks of my position as head editor and proofreader. We were paid by monetization, as well as from the small fees we charged to edit the writing of both the greats and aspiring creators. Most of my income was from independent contracts my boss would nab from publishing companies. I had already edited three novels and at least ten short story collections.
     Working from home was also a drawback. My house was empty; no husband, no children, siblings, parents... no boyfriend. I closed my laptop, and for another moment thought Angela might be right. Many of my friends were already married with children. It's hard to avoid pressure when surrounded by couples and offspring. You can't help but think everyone secretly wonders when you're next. It's a lie to call myself perfectly strong. I flip flopped between the aching desire to be part of a couple, and complete satisfaction in being one with myself.
     I was terrified of the uncharted territory of new relationships. All my last relationships were shit. It's easy to fall into the pattern of fearing that the next will be just like the last. I'd longed to break the pattern, but never could seem to free myself from the dating funk I was in. I'd dated men critical of my looks, men who expected me to be 'easy,' and the icing on the cake was the man who moved out of our shared apartment while I was at work. Then demanded money for bills he was behind on. I had news for these men: I'm not easy, I like the way I look, and if the bill is in your name it's not my problem.

     Despite the cowardice of ending the relationship with a letter, text, or phone call, and feeling that I was above dating someone who would treat me that way, my ego was seriously injured. Even though I felt lonely living with another person, and I had closed off any and all physical intimacy by my own choosing, I was no less hurt when things fell apart. I slept on an air mattress for days because he had taken both the couch and the bed. I spent the last of what I had on groceries because he had cleaned out the cabinets. I did all my homework at the school library because he had cancelled the internet service. I kept the chain across the door because his friend would come by to harass and belittle me, because I was scared to let them in.
     I shook myself out of it. My mom always told me you had to kiss a lot of frogs to find a prince. I couldn't even meet a lot of frogs, I worked from home and had been out of the dating world so long that I forgot how it even worked. I knew you had to go out and let people see you, but the rest is rocket science at worst and particle physics at best.
     At last I confidently put the idea of calling the lab to bed. It was a masterstroke in desperation. Not to mention, I didn't know where to begin with what I wanted in a man. Mainly because what I wanted only seemed to lead to trouble, and I'd had quite enough. 
     My phone buzzed. Em was texting a picture of a diamond ring on her manicured hand. Finn had proposed today at lunch. I smiled wistfully and typed back a congratulations before plodding to the kitchen and eating leftover pizza for lunch.