Amy Everhart

I find the book when I’m sweeping my bedroom, hiding halfway under the bed in a pile of dust bunnies next to my snoozing cat and a flat plastic case of winter sweaters. It’s my copy of Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat Pray Love. And after retrieving it and dusting it off, I see that a page is folded to mark my place somewhere in the middle of India, where I stopped reading months ago. My apologies to book clubs everywhere, but the India section was a snooze. 

On July 4, we Americans celebrated our independence. We were so thrilled about it that we roasted whole pigs, we flew flags, we lit up the sky with our delight. Yet the rest of the year, we single gals tend to bemoan our independence, pining for the day we’ll become one of two and start depending away into happily-ever-after. We’re so desperate to lock lips with another that we forget to relish the freedom of calling the shots, the peace and quiet of spending time with our thoughts, the strength we gain from fending for ourselves.  

In the wake of the recent flood and the outpouring of flood-inspired volunteerism, I was planning to write this month’s column on opportunities to meet your future mate volunteering. That was before I chose to spend my volunteer equity on fostering flood-rescue kittens. As a result, what was once a three-cat household, already teetering on the edge of Too Much Baggage, has turned into an eight-cat household, aka Downright Unmateable.

“You what?” my sister screamed into the phone. “Now you’ll never get a boyfriend!”

In April we are reminded to be good to the earth.  Wanting to do my part, I set about to celebrate Earth Month by browsing for green-conscious single boys on planetearthsingles.com.  After all, the site welcomes environmentalists, activists, animal-rights advocates, yogis and yoginis, vegetarians, vegans, and raw foodists.  Seeing as how I’d go to the ends of the earth for my pet cats and have struck a few yoga poses around the house, I figure I qualify.  So I grab a plate of leftover pork chops to snack on and get to finding myself a man who adores hugging me as m

I’ve attended my share of weddings, and each and every one as a single girl.  Ever wonder what we single girls are thinking at these "Events Built for Two?" It depends when you ask. 

Each Monday night I prepare for my standing date. I pull on my romantic floral-print PJs, pour myself a glass of red wine to take the edge off, and plate up whatever chocolate is lying around the house. Then I sink into my couch to spend the evening with my favorite bachelor. 

“I won’t even look for a mate until my house is clean,” my friend announces when I ask her about her dating life.  I don’t have the heart to tell her, but my friend, who diagnosed herself a hoarder after watching that “Hoarders” show on A&E, will never pair up if she has to make room for him first.

This is the year. 

This is the year I’ll bring him home for Christmas. 

This is the year I’ll walk through cobblestone streets shopping with him, a light snow falling (but not flattening my hair) while I warm my hand in his coat pocket and we feed each other roasted chestnuts, stopping afterward to share a hot chocolate. 

Sheryl Crow said love is free, but I’m starting to wonder.  This email from Match.com appeared in my inbox today: “Love is on sale: save 25% this fall!” Then there was my recent run-in with a singles group we’ll call “Happenings & Activities” for purposes of this story.

I looked up the word “solo” today on Thesaurus.com, not because I’m obsessed with my singlehood, but because I was searching for a column title about my solo law practice for a legal newsletter. The results, nonetheless, beg to be shared with all of singlekind.