+1 {fail}

I seldom suffer from a lack of confidence. Put me in a meeting and I'm not afraid to speak up. Because most of the time, I think I have something important to add. I am (semi-) well educated, well traveled, and have a lot of amazing friends.

So I walk around with my head held high, secure in my place in the world and my contributions to it. I am woman, hear me roar.

But on the random days I prance to the mailbox and find a social invitation, my confidence plummets. There, in what I interpret as a mocking tone, I read the words that strike fear into my heart: "Lori and Guest."

I hate the plus one. I vacillate between an RSVP of regret and securing a pity date. I wonder which poor guy friend I can drag to a wedding or cocktail party or black tie dinner. I question if I have the guts to walk in alone or whether to become the third or fifth wheel to one of my married girlfriends.

Yeah, here's my dirty little secret: "and guest" makes me feel like a big fat failure.

Because, let's face it, from the moment we're born we're conditioned to be part of a pair. No one wants to invite the single gal to a dinner party. No one likes to go to the theatre alone. And even though I'm sure the bride's parents aren't sad about one serving of chicken instead of two, slow dances weren't meant to be solo.

So forgive me if I seem off my game, because this week I've been invited to a wedding, a charity fundraiser, and a birthday party. All three invites said "Lori and Guest." And even though marriage would certainly have tax benefits, more than anything else, it would be great not to stress about my plus one.

But when I discussed this with a married pal earlier this evening, she responded: "I would love to not have a permadate for every event and instead just go with a friend and have fun." Hmmm... the grass is always greener on the other side of the bed.

It ain't easy being green

I hate Valentine's Day.

There are two nights out of the entire year that it really sucks to be single. One is New Year's Eve. The other, Valentine's Day.

The other 363 I don't mind being alone. Right now I'm watching a cheesy show on the CW in my flannel pajamas, wearing glasses and Crest white strips. My legs aren't shaved. My hair's in a clip. My top and bottoms don't match. Ah, the fabulous life of the single gal.

I just painted a purple accent wall in my bedroom. No man would let me do that.

Glamour aside, my life is going pretty well right now. I have plans with great friends three nights in a row this weekend. My job is good (and I'm grateful to have one). But Valentine's Day looms. That Hallmark, red rose and haiku festival of love. In 13 days. With no man on the horizon.

Without a doubt, the worst part of this stupid holiday is the pity others seem to think I deserve. Last year one of my coworkers felt bad that I didn't get flowers, so she left one of the 18 she received from her husband on my desk. Yeah, thanks for the pity rose, pal.

I usually get some cursory gifts from friends, with comments of "Well we didn't want you to not get anything today...." Seriously. I'm okay with that. It's much less painful than others wrapping stuff up because they feel sorry for me.

My pal Lori B, who's also single (and amazing, which makes me realize boys are really stupid) sent me an email today from a local restaurant, detailing their Valentine's Day plans. This is a first-rate joint, with servers and assistant servers and reservations and bottle service. They also have a great bar area that they're trying to establish as the permier Happy Hour locale of NWA.

So, on Thursday, February 11, they'll be featuring a fabulous mixer after work, and are encouraging patrons to color code themselves for easy identification. If you're taken, you're to wear red. If you're in a relationship but it's not serious, you're supposed to wear yellow. Single? Wear green.

What the heck is the significance of green? Red is the official color of Valentine's Day, so I suppose that makes green the color of mold? Not the bloom from the rose, but the extra leaves that get cut off. Why don't we all just stamp our forehead with a big "L" for loser and call it a night?

I can tell you one gal who won't be wearing green for Valentine's Day. I'll be in black in protest of this stupid holiday.

And no, I'm not online dating. Shut up.

I'll have what she's having

The difference between single girls and married girls is more marked than tax brackets and salutations. It's a classic case of "the grass is always greener" I suppose.

Never is this more apparent than during Girls' Night Out festivities. The Mrs./Mommy camp need to escape from desperate housewife-ness to a hotel room and nice restaurant. The Miss contingent often considers a weekend of being at home a nice change from eating out and constant travel.

The Mrs. group wants to trade in yoga pants and carpools for short skirts and sexy boots. The Miss cohort wishes they were at home in yoga pants and flip flops.

The marrieds want to flirt with guys at the bar. The singles know he's most likely (a) married; (b) gay; (c) a commitmentphobe; or (d) a crazy stalker who will incessantly call/text/generally not get the hint after a bad date. Stop questioning our high standards; we're not picky so much as tired of picking out losers.

Somewhere between the first date and the crappily ever after, some married women start to envy the life of the single gal. After all, we don't have to justify how many pair of shoes we own. We can sleep in until noon on the weekends. We don't have to wonder if anyone drank straight out of the milk carton. The toilet seat is always down when we need it. We always have control over the remote.

And yeah, we can go out and party every night. But we don't. Because it's not as much fun when you're alone.

So maybe your husband has gained some weight or lost some hair since you married him. And maybe he's not as romantic as you'd like. But you never have to worry about slipping in the shower and no one finding your body for days. You don't have to skip weddings and other social events because you have no one to be your plus one.

You may love the occasional nights of a bed all to yourself, but you don't have to stress about always sleeping alone. We pay higher taxes. We squash our own bugs. We pay premium to have things shipped that are too heavy for us to carry.

It can be lonely. It can be fabulous. No one liked it enough to put a ring on it, after all. So drink up, married women. Your life isn't so bad.

All the single ladies put your hands up

There are many advantages to being single, not the least of which is the ability to own many shoes and handbags without need for justification. It's also great to always maintain control of the remote and not have to clean whiskers out of the sink or other unmentionables out of the toilet (not that I clean my own toilet, but you catch my drift). No one steals my covers or leaves empty milk cartons in my fridge. Tax breaks aside, most of the time it's great to be a single gal.

One of the downsides of being single, however, is the propensity of married women to assume you're after their husbands. Rest assured, we are not. While we may find them amusing and smart and want to retain their friendship, most of the time, we wouldn't want them if they were single. And especially not if they've said "I do."

So when you call your hubby and find out he's hanging out with a single gal, don't assume the worst. After all, he told you the truth, so there's probably nothing to hide.

End of soapbox. For now.

Table for one

Ok, so I was wrong about the lack of wireless internet availability in the ca. Civil War hotel. Lucky for you guys... I'd HATE for you all to miss a single moment of my exciting life.

Speaking of single, I did something tonight that reminds me of my spousal-challenged existence: I ate dinner by myself. There's nothing worse than entering a restaurant and the hostess saying, "Dining alone?" Oh, I'm sure I could have driven through some horrible fast-food joint and eaten in my room, but I wanted to enjoy one of my favorite restaurants, Rogue's Manor, while I was in Eureka (sorry, Alisa... I know you're jealous!).

So I grabbed a book and headed to a table for two as one. Dinner was yummy, and my waiter was especially attentive (I find that's always how it is when you're alone... guess they feel sorry for you). Now I'm in my room, laying in a bed meant for two, after enjoying an amazing bath in a double whirlpool tub.

{Sigh}. It's a bicycle built-for-two world, and I'm riding a unicycle.

Oh, most days I love that I can buy as many pair of shoes as I wish. I don't mind not sharing a bed. I couldn't even make a long-term commitment to a cat, but occasionally, I would be nice to say "table for two."

But I don't want to share my dessert.