Listen to this article being read by Adrienne Tam, here.
American novelist Ernest Hemingway is often credited with writing the shortest - and saddest - story in the world. It has only six words.
For sale: baby shoes, never worn.
Ouch. Hits the heart, right?
Well, here's my version.
Friday night: Chinese takeaway for one.
Yeah. Eat your heart out, Ernest Hemingway.
To get you in the mood for this article, I recommend watching the scene where Bridget Jones mimes along to the anthem of the single people, "All By Myself", while sitting on the couch in her pyjamas.
For your viewing pleasure and convenience, here is the scene. Story continues after.
So, let me tell you about the kingdom I live in. It's called Singledom.
It's nice here most of the time. I eat what I want, I watch what I want, I sleep when I want, and I never have to tell anyone when I'm coming home. (I mean, I tell my cat, but she rarely cares.)
Sometimes though, Singledom isn't so great.
Despite numerous advancements we've made as a society, there is just something about being single that causes people to look at us with a bit of pity. Or a lot of it, depending on who's doing the looking.
It's as though we have a disease. There are a few phrases given to our "affliction". Unlucky in love. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Still waiting for Prince Charming to come along. And so on and so forth.
We're punished for our single-ness by the way of taxes, housing, hotels, food... basically anything involving finances.
We annoy event organisers by ruining their perfect seating configuration: "Do you think we can have an 11th table setting?"
There are a million love songs in every language.
There are a million rom-coms in every country.