-Recently I went out with six friends – two married couples and one couple that lives together – thereby making me the seventh wheel.  I’ve been the third and fifth wheels plenty of times, but never the seventh.  It’s nights like this that make me introspective about being single.  On one hand, it’s kind of depressing to see my friends with their significant others laughing and sharing, and realize I don’t have that.  On the other hand, it’s exhilarating to know that I’m not responsible for anyone’s happiness but my own, and that the next girl I wake up next to in bed won’t be living with me.  Upon reflection, I don’t think that being an odd-numbered wheel is something to be ashamed of.  In fact, I look at it as a badge of honor.  I’d be the fifteenth wheel if I could – if only to be in a room with fourteen people whose lives are more boring than mine.

-I’ve never been much of a dater.  I can probably count on both hands the number of official dates I’ve ever been on.  Quite frankly, I just don’t have the patience.  Drinks are for getting drunk, and I prefer to eat dinner while wearing something with an elastic waistband.  As far as conversation, well, no one likes to talk about themselves as much as I do, but listening to some chick ramble on about her career as an event planner?  No thanks, I’ll pass.  Besides, it’s not a real job if you can be rendered obsolete by an Evite.

-I love when I’m the odd-numbered wheel, surrounded by married people, plus that one couple that’s been dating for like six years but still hasn’t gotten engaged yet.  I always feel a sense of camaraderie with the girl.  She’s like, “What’s new, Karo?”  And I’m like, “Not much.  You?”  And, surrounded by others’ wedding bling, she sighs, “Nothing.”  And then we both get drunk secure in the knowledge that neither of us is getting hitched any time soon.

-Though I frequently mock the institution of marriage, I do hope that one day – many years from now – I will get married myself.  The thing is, most of my past serious relationships began with a one-night stand.  Therefore, it’s reasonable to assume that that’s how I’ll meet my future wife as well.  So I figure the next time I try to take a girl home from the bar and she objects, asking, “What kind of girl do you think I am?” I can respond, “I guess not marriage material.”