Something weird is happening. After a month of bitching that I don’t get asked out on dates enough, I canceled a third date. With a cute law student. If she were dead, my grandmother would be rolling in her grave right now…but instead she’s screaming at me that she’s never going to have great grandchildren.

I hate my exes. Mostly because I’m not even sure I can call them my exes. You see, in the world of the eternally single, you rack up a lot of blurry relationships with people. We go on dates, but we’re not dating. We’re dating, but we’re not together. We’re together, but he’s not my boyfriend…

There’s a reason kids on tricycles get their asses kicked; no one likes a third wheel. Yet time and time again, as coupled people attempt to prove that they have not fallen victim to the anti-social-eat-Chinese-food-while-cuddling-on-the-couch behavior long associated with relationships, you somehow end up third-wheeling it up night after night.

I know where you are right now, Little Miss Single. Because I used to be there, too. You’re sad you don’t have a boyfriend. Your friends are going on double and triple dates, and you’re still sitting by your phone waiting for your last ditch effort at romance to call. But why is a boyfriend so essential?

I’ll admit in all shallowness, one thing excites me more than anything about the summer time: busting out short skirts! But there’s one problem. While slipping on a slinky mini dress the other night, I looked down at my legs in horror. Walking around in bermudas all day had given me a beautiful golden tan…from the knee down.