(Becase you are your own worst enemy, not I. Public Enemy #1 the reprise.)
I am the reason why you two aren’t together. I am the reason you’ve been inadequate. I am the reason you are alone. I am the reason it didn’t work out. I am the reason you are insecure. I am the reason you can’t get a job. I am the reason your cat died. I am the reason you got a flat tire on your way home. I am the reason why that bird shitted on you. I am the reason you just got a paper cut. I am the reason you are unhappy.
All because I’m young, and free spirited, and pretty, and fun, and most of all – SINGLE.
Because I would never, ever want me and the ladies I love to all be in healthy relationships where we prepare food in the kitchen and talk shit about your OCD, and his ugly handwriting, and the fact that he can’t spell, while you, him, and he bbq in the backyard. I would never want the kids of my best friends to be best friends with my own. And God forbid my girls have awesome boyfriends that treat them well to give me faith that men like them still exist. That concept makes no sense at all. NONE.
Because I would much rather party, and bullshit, and go to Cabo and force your girl who wasn’t even your girl anymore to come with me so we can join wet t-shirt contests, have bottles of Patron poured into our mouths, have one night stands, and do all the things I don’t like and wouldn’t do single or taken anyway. Because I would much rather have us cry in a circle about our failed relationships over ice cream, than celebrate our amazing relationships over Moscatto during happy hour. Because the woman you love is spineless, and doesn’t have a mind of her own to feel, cry, laugh, and make decisions for herself. Because misery loves company right?
Honey, I ain’t miserable.
Otherwise I’d be spending this coming Monday sabotaging relationships, slashing tires, breaking hearts, raining on people’s gay parade, and hiding out on a rooftop waiting to snipe Cupid right between the eyes. But instead I’ll be celebrating love (better than celebrating hate right?). Whether it be celebrating the love I have for my boys by playing wing women for them. Celebrating the love I have for my girls by watching romantic comedies on their living room floor. Or most likely, celebrating the love I have for myself over a glass of wine, and a 1,081 page book on literary agents.
But if it makes you feel better to point your finger at everyone else but yourself, handle it. If it makes you feel better to put the blame on me, then go right on ahead (even though I really think you’re giving me too much credit). ‘Cuz then maybe, just maybe, I will also be the reason you wake up, grow up, and take responsibility for yourself.
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