After a conversation with a coworker, I came to the realization that I’m a bit of a snobby single. Many of my conversations with him have revolved around how doing things with married people was a terrible way to spend my time. I may have implied that I’d rather be impaled by unicorns, Triton’s spear and a myriad of other sharp mythical objects than socialize with the married people. I don’t really feel this way, but it entirely depends on the dynamics of the group and, more importantly, the ratio of singles to espoused. When I’m mingling within a group peppered with those flying solo and those happily entrenched in a duet, I have a splendid time and don’t think twice about the distinguishing line that becomes so pronounced when it’s me and a room full of couples.

I’m not sure if it’s that the fact that my most recent romantic experiments appear to be taking an unfavorable turn or that I’ve witnessed the demise of the relationships of a few close friends or something else entirely but I found myself on the train to bitter town a few days ago. I’ve since recovered but it got me thinking about the divide between singles and couples.