What the Singlefolk do

I'm very disappointed in myself. I shouldn't be up yet. I should be on my third or maybe only second hour of sleep. When I do wake up though, I should have stories to tell - foggy memories of a night that I'll never forget, coming more and more into focus. I should be chuckling to myself.

As it is, I'm up to water my flowers, shew away the early birds getting their worms from my yard, and greet the neighbors participating in a similar morning regimen. And I'm mad that I let myself do it.

'Do what?,' you ask. 

This. See, I've been evaluating my Facebook feed recently - it's become very predictable. Weddings, honeymoons and babies. That's it. I used to wake up on a Sunday morning excited to see the people, parties and incriminating photos of a great Saturday night. But for the past year or more, all that seems to pop up on Sunday are bridal party shots and 'good mornings' from baby after baby. While I love seeing that kind of content, I'm left wondering what my single friends are doing? Why aren't they posted their fun so that I can vicariously live through them after I've had my fill of the Pet Parades, ice cream socials, and trampolines that come with suburban life?

This weekend, Peter went fishing in Cape Cod. So in essence, I got to be a party of one for the weekend. I had the chance to find out what all the single folk were doing in the city - the fun stuff that has become too cool to post on Facebook. And to persuade my city-dwelling friends that I haven't prematurely turned 45 years-old.  

I had mapped out a great Saturday evening - Division Fest, drinks with Kate around 9:00, meet up with Cinderella before her chariot from the Casino to the city turned into a pumpkin at midnight.

But yesterday after a 14-mile run, including a stroll through the annual Pet Parade, a trip to the frame store, loads of laundry, letter writing and reading in the hammock, and another afternoon in the garden, the sun started to set as I pulled one last weed. It was already 7:00. I got showered and dressed, debating whether or not I should still go downtown, ultimately reaching the answer, 'no,' which in turn has made me very disappointed this morning. 

I just checked Facebook and there was just a subtle reference to what I missed - a check-in at the Rooftop at the Wit, and one where my friend got to skip the line. One of my favorite places. VIP treatment. Darnit. 

While I love the green grass of the Western Suburbs. I believe the single ladies (and men) of the world are playing in some very verdant pastures. And I wish I had frolicked in them this weekend. Singles, keep living it up, staying forever young, and saving the secrets of your incredible revelries for the eyes and ears of the people that can stay up past 9:30.


Lo.