“The only day I ever wanted a girlfriend was on Sunday,” a friend informed me yesterday, staring at his girlfriend of two years with a content look on his face. It was, indeed, a Sunday. The couch across from me was overspilling with canoodling couples, enjoying their blissful afternoon of using each other as human pillows. My single tush was parked on the floor, nurturing her struggles with a macadamia chocolate chip cookie.
This was not the first time I had heard the Sunday Theory, in which the holy day of R&R seems to incite the basic need for companionship in even the most stone-hearted of individuals. But where does this leave the rest of the days of the week? Let’s take a look at the internal day-to-day monologue of being single, as derived from abundant personal experience!
