37 and still a c*nt

another year older, another year single

Last year around my birthday, I wrote about still being an immature bitch even though I’m getting too old for it. This year, on the day I turn 37, I’m going to tell you about a recent experience that humiliated me into an existential crisis. Read on to discover the lesson I learned.

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It was the last day of school, and I was standing in the front office waiting to get my end-of-year checklist signed by the principal. I decided (foolishly) to strike up a friendly conversation with my fellow teachers. This was my first year teaching full-time, and I was still trying to make friends (clearly a mistake). After a year of feeling like a fraud and trying to stay out of everyone’s way, I was feeling strangely confident. We’d had a little celebration that morning where fully caffeinated coffee was served, and I drank some. I normally don’t do this for a variety of reasons: it makes my heart pound, it makes me jittery and nervous, and it makes me feel manic. However, I reasoned with myself, it was the last day of school and this was a party! I could have just a little bit, as a treat.

I had just enough coffee to feel energized and willing to socialize. Honestly, I felt amazing. I sat with a couple other teachers from the ELAR team, as well as some others I don’t normally talk to. I listened and nodded along intently as the 6th grade math teacher, who is 24 years old, talked about her wedding plans. I marveled at a giant candle that the ESL teacher, who is kindof my friend, received as a gift for some reason. We all took turns smelling the candle. The superintendent of the school, who is also a preacher, praised the catering team for their homemade horchata. “Great whore-sha-tuh!” he said, and I did not make fun of him. I did not smirk when he led us in a prayer, and even closed my eyes and bowed my head out of respect. I was doing a great job at passing for normal in Texas.

Flash forward back to the end of the day, when all the teachers were standing in the office. This was when I made an egregious mistake. I was talking to the principal’s secretary and the 8th grade reading teacher, both of whom I felt were sort of my friends. The basketball coach was also there. He is young and cool, and has always been incredibly kind, even though he doesn’t remind his athletes to do their assignments when they leave school early for a game. This was also his first year teaching, so I saw him as an ally. The day before that, he’d offered to hand out medals for me during the student awards ceremony. I thought this was really generous of him. We joked about hating public speaking while I waited to announce my top three 7th graders of the year. I thought to myself, I’m making a new friend!

It’s important to mention here that this man happens to be 6’3”, handsome, and unmarried. Many of the other teachers openly thirst after him, even though all of them are married and none of them are poly. I might be one of the only women at school who actually does not have a crush on him. Wholesome, kind, and clean-cut is simply not my type. Also, he’s like 26 years old and engaged. I do, however, want to be his friend. Earlier that morning, I’d seen in the newsletter that he also has a June birthday. In fact, his birthday is the day before mine! So I said to him, in a conspiratorial tone, “I saw that you’re also a Gemini!” because Geminis in this world should stick together (unless you’re Donald Trump). Before he could respond, the attendance clerk, who normally doesn’t speak to anyone, chimed in. She said loudly and flatly from 10 feet away, “he’s engaged.” I looked over to see that she was glaring at me. The room erupted in laughter, and I felt all the blood in my veins rush up to my face.

After a long, horrible moment I managed to say, “I’m aware of that,” as everyone continued laughing. The only other person not laughing was the attendance clerk. I wish I’d said about a hundred other things, like, “me too,” or, “He’s too straight for me,” or, “I’m actually currently so dickmatized by the personal trainer I’ve been fucking that I have no romantic space left for anyone else and it’s a big problem for me, actually.” Instead I stayed silent, mostly because I felt like I was going to throw up and because the attendance clerk is not someone I want to make an enemy out of. The two women I was standing next to started talking about times when other women flirted with their husbands, and jokingly praised the attendance clerk for her call-out. I’m not sure if they were trying to make it better for me by redirecting the conversation, but it definitely made it worse. I swallowed the embarrassment and faded silently into the background of the conversation, just like I’d been doing all year. The coach looked at me with sympathy and mutual embarrassment. Unfortunately, we did not get to bond over being Geminis.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this, not only because it was humiliating, but because of what I feel it implied about me: that since I’m a single, unmarried woman, I must always be on the prowl for a man. Other women should keep their husbands and fiancés away from me because I will surely try to seduce them. If I do seduce them, their infidelity is all my fault. It is going to be assumed, even when I’m not flirting, that I actually AM desperately flirting, just by virtue of being single. It felt like a slut-shaming, and this time I wasn’t even being a slut! I wasn’t flirting in a sexual way, I swear!

After the sheer embarrassment faded away, I started to wonder why this stupid comment had gotten so far under my skin. I do hate the attendance clerk now, but I don’t think she was trying to humiliate me. I think she was simply making an observation that felt true to her. I’m also not sure if anyone else perceived this as the embarrassing moment I felt it was. Now I realize that it was the first time in my life where I felt my singleness acutely as a problem and a threat — and not a threat in a hot femme fatale way, but in an unnatural, disturbed way. If I were still in my 20’s or early 30’s, perhaps it would be sexy. If I were a hot divorcée or a hot single mom, it would be socially acceptable. But now it’s just weird and suspicious to be a single, straight-presenting woman. I feel that so intensely when I meet new people, which makes me not want to meet anyone. It’s quite isolating.

When I moved back to Texas from New York three years ago, I assumed I would naturally fall into the rhythm of life here. I assumed that in three years, I would be partnered just like everyone else, and probably having some sort of baby. Instead, I’m fresh off a break-up, still single, still bicurious, and still feeling very much alone in the world. Even though I am surrounded by loving people, we still live in a hyper individualistic system. I am very far from the community of artists and writers that makes me feel like I belong to something. This means I am still ultimately moving through life alone.

The feeling is definitely magnified in a place like Texas, but I think it would exist anywhere. It’s a feeling I am okay with, because I know that if I’d settled for anyone I’ve dated thus far, I would be married to someone I hate. It is, however, an existence that is at odds with a patriarchal, binary, capitalistic society. I love being single, and I think I will remain so for a long time. I also know that is not the choice that, say, my dad or J.D. Vance wants me to make. I don’t really know how else to respond to that except to say: fuck off and leave me alone. I’d rather die than have a child just because you think I should.

Last year, I felt inconvenienced by being single when everyone brought their man to the barre and crowded out my space. This year, I AM the inconvenience. As Amy Dunne once famously and eloquently said, “I am that cunt.” And I am. I hope it scares you.