My Big Fat Single Quarantine
Hello comrade, I take it you too are a fellow trooper like me, single in quarantine, and I commend you. If you’re reading this from the comforting embrace of a relationship then piss off.
It must be nice having someone to suffer lockdown with, having someone to chat with all the time, bake banana bread with and have long strolls in the winter sun. Whilst the other half of us have to bake alone, stroll alone and go to Tesco, ALONE.
Having said this, Tesco trips are fast becoming the highlight of my quarantine. Do not disregard this opportunity of leaving your house: throw on your Sunday best, do your makeup and brush your hair. Before you leave in your pasta sauce stained sweats that haven’t been prised off your body in 5 working days, stop and think: will I meet my potential lover there? Get back up those stairs and get to work on the transformation. Of course, we are met with a slight adversity: the mask. Not to fear, I’ve been practicing gesturing with my eyes and I THNK, just think I might’ve mastered the “I’m single, and interested” look. And of course if you do live in an area like mine full of elderly people then the chance of meeting a tall dark and handsome man, around 6 foot, interested in sports, namely rugby, with a kind heart and strong adoration for animals, positive attitude to life, with hilarious comedic timing and ocean eyes who has just moved the area and conveniently single then yeah I’ll admit your chances are slim…. but never impossible.
The same goes for those daily walks I’m afraid. If potentials might be there, for god’s sake look good. My daily exercise is meant to be some sort of escape from the tumultuous shackles of isolation, however in these moments of peace I am never truly free. Every direction I turn couples torment me, looming over me with their pitiful looks, paws locked together, claws digging in, piercing the surface of their partners skin, clinging desperately in the fear that they might get put back on the shelf. Bundled up in scarfs, and cuddled in at the waist, wearing a smug expression as if to say “yes after this stroll we will go home by the fire, sit and laugh together at a mediocre film whilst the scent of baked banana bread fills our nostrils and then we may do the same tomorrow”. Even the fitness freaks are at it, enduring burpees together in the fields, grow up and have a maccies.
Now I know we’ve all had the same idea, that one glimmer of hope, excitement and flirtatiousness in our otherwise mundane and sad lives. What’s the closest thing that could replicate the thrill of meeting a semi attractive stranger on a night out and getting wrapped up in drunk discussion. Tinder. Whilst I’ll admit for the first couple of weeks in lockdown this did serve to fulfil some of the needs and desires we all shared, there comes a time where you’ve matched with everyone in your local area, you’ve set your age range worryingly high for the hope of a ‘mature’ male and before long you’ve exhausted your options.
…but then, something magical happens. A new card appears, he looks mysterious, he’s got some stories to tell, a friendly face and a more than friendly physique, yes! a match! and then those dreaded five words “how’s lockdown been treating you”. You’d think we’d have something better and more stimulating to converse about, but for the last year we’ve been in a lockdown and literally nothing has happened, we can’t jump straight into riveting discussions about Biden’s inauguration and Matt Hancock’s fetish for starving young children, because let’s be honest, this is Tinder we are on. You see your friends in the streets, “How’s your lockdown”, my lockdown is how your lockdown is, stop asking me about my lockdown. It’s like we’ve all forgotten how to converse, all social skills have been abandoned and if this goes on any longer, “lockdown” will be the only word we’ll be able to articulate.
For the love of god, this has got to stop, for our own sanity. There’s only so many Instagram posts I can take with couples in their matching pyjamas and coordinated Tik Tok routines.
P.S. if you’re reading this and match the description above, hit me up.
