when you’re sitting at a table in a cafe and someone asks you, “is anybody going to be sitting here?” When you reply to them, “no not at all” they politely take the vacant chair and use it for the table that’s directly next to you where it’s needed. Then you’re sitting there staring dramatically at this empty space that used to be filled with an empty wood backside of a chair that now feels like a giant spotlight directly pointing at you. Sort of like you’re being showcased to the world, “hey this young lady doesn’t have enough company around her for a two person table.”
What you do at that moment is what will defy what stage of single-dome you’re in. You’ll either want to curl up in a ball of defeat, and promptly stop whatever you were doing and go back home to the confines of your room. Or you’ll notice the spotlight, tell it to fuck off, and continue reading your book in rebellion.
I understand, it’s winter. There is nothing more romantic than holding on to your partners hand and walking the congested sidewalk streets side by side during the most high foot traffic time, at snail like pace, extending your time together looking at christmas lights and giggling between you two. You love each other, I get it. You know why I get it?
BECAUSE I’M THE MOTHERFUCKER STUCK BEHIND YOU WALKING SLOWER THAN A SNAIL TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW THE FUCK I CAN GET AROUND YOU MISSION IMPOSSIBLE STYLE.
As much as I would love to have the abilities of Spider-Man to shoot a web from my wrist and cascade from building to building, avoiding all walking traffic, I don’t have it. I have to be the human sighing loudly, saying excuse me walking underneath your interlocked hands, trying to get to the train I probably already missed because of you dickholes. I loathe you with the passion of a thousand suns.