Look, it’s no secret to anyone. I’m single. Never had a boyfriend. Whether by choice, involuntarily or due to residual trauma regarding past rejection and the resulting insecurities (see 2 posts ago for reference), I have lived my 23 years on this planet so far as a single lady (cue Beyoncé).

Moving to a small town has placed me in a position that’s totally new, because lots of people I talk to ask me if I have a boyfriend, try to set me up with their nephew’s step-cousin’s best friend’s neighbor’s economics professor or express their concern that I might be single forever, which I’m starting to think is up there with being, like, Ted Bundy or the kind of person who bites their fingernails and spits the talon into the ether. You know, the real problems in society.

Be that as it may, to many folks’ great concern, I am still single.

YES, a little bit of attention would probably be nice. I honestly don’t know what I want (nobody does, I’m thinking). I don’t know that I want a boyfriend right now, but for God’s sake, sometimes I am tired of not having one.

And so, I have laid out for you below a list of unorganized thoughts that I have had while living in this town as a single person in search of some thrills, whenever I can get them.

I wonder, if I drive 70 miles per hour past the police station, what are the odds that the cop who pulls me over is cute? Or that he’d rethink ticketing me once I give him my best, “where you from, you sexy thing” smile?

Emma, do you REALLY want a boyfriend? If you get one and he’s hanging around the apartment all the time, you’d have to close the door when you poop. And that would be tragic.

If I can’t get a boyfriend to help me carry in my groceries, the least the universe could do is send me a manservant. I think I deserve a manservant at the very least. In the Emperor’s New Groove, Yzma had Kronk, and she was a real pill. I’m not a pill, yet here I am. Boyfriendless and manservantless. Please tell me how THAT’S fair.

Is that old man at the gym who told me to “wipe down” my “equipment” flirting with me?! Is that a euphemism for something?!

Hmmm, after smelling all of these wax melts, I’ve decided to choose the one that smells like men’s deodorant. Again. Gotta get my kicks in somewhere, I guess.

You’ve got to be frickin’ kidding. I FINALLY get my ass over to the laundromat because I ran out of underwear and was washing them in my bathroom sink  AND THEN two cute guys walk in while I am sorting through my underpantaloons?! No, no, by all means, have a look at my collection of graying lace knickers. That’s exactly what I wanted.

Is this…regret I feel for not having a go at hunting this winter? Is that where all of the cute guys are at the beginning of cuffing season? Out shooting deer and pretending camo is an acceptable choice of attire? I can’t believe I missed a prime opportunity. Men, testosterone, nature, the wild. Seems like an untapped goldmine, and a really big booboo on my part for overlooking it. I’ll be smarter next buck season.

Oh dear, I’ve finally run into a cute cop at the Sheetz. Crap, what do I say to him? “Hello, Officer?” Are all cops officers? What about “deputy?” Is “sir” too much? Do I ignore him? Steal something so he has to run me down in the parking lot? THERE’S TOO MUCH PRESSURE!

Ah, yes. Your typical small-town cutie working out at the gym. I will NOT be using the treadmill next to him because I sound like a bison in labor when I run. I will NOT talk to him because my mouth will probably get all dry and then there will be that gross spittle in the corners of my lips. You know what I’m talking about. No, I will play “Rock That Body” by the Black Eyed Peas VERY LOUDLY over my headphones and hope that he hears it and take the hint. It’s worth a shot.

Or, better yet, I’ll pretend to watch the college football game on the TV in the hopes that he uses that and the sweat stains on my gray leggings to deduce that I am, in fact, a very fun, sporty, funky, fresh and fab young gal getting her fitness on. And then he might talk to me. But again, the spit?! We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Today, I will leave the apartment with no makeup. It’s empowering. Every man who sees me will think, “Wow, so confident, so fresh-faced, so secure.” Never mind that I probably look like a wooly mammoth.

Damn it, that guy I accidentally matched with on Tinder works at this grocery store. Well, guess I’ll be avoiding him at all costs.

Your Not-Quite-Desperate-But-Definitely-Keeping-Her-Eyes-Peeled Servant,

Em