Ever since Secret Single Behavior became a thing, thanks to the gang from Sex and the City, ladies who live alone have not been shy about sharing what goes on behind closed doors.
“I lie in the bath for hours, eating chocolate and drinking beer.”
“I wrap myself in a hideous orange snuggy and stand in the kitchen eating Gherkins from a jar.”
“I vacuum in high heels, dancing around the house to Spice Girls hits.”
“I stole my neighbour’s chihuahua and used it’s liver in a Satanic ritual in lieu of dragon testicles. I don’t live near a pet store.”
If these “confessions” sound familiar, it’s because they are a grab bag of all the “real life single girl stories” I’ve picked up from magazines and blogs over the years.
(Well, maybe not that last one. Maybe.)
But can you spy the fairy flossed thread of familiarity that twines them all together?
It’s that they’re all safe, slightly decadent, quirky vignettes of the wildly fun times women who live alone must experience on a daily basis. It’s all endless glasses of wine, late night dance parties and a bounty of chocolate treats.
It’s Pretty Woman meets Carrie Bradshaw, with just a touch of Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? thrown in for good measure.