The single life is a gift. It’s champagne and roses, fireworks and fireplaces, long meandering kisses under bridges at sunset, and hot, unfathomable sex that lasts entire federal holidays.
But it’s also, sometimes, a gift I’d rather return. It’s lonely. I want to watch Netflix in dirty sweatpants with someone whose name I can remember.
So as an experiment, I went on a date a week for a year to see if finding love was really just a numbers game. For this precious adventure, I am so grateful. (As are condom manufacturers worldwide.)
It worked—I am off the market. And I learned some badass dating hacks along the way. I’ve done my time. I know whereof I speak.