Memoirs of a Fat Girl

And so, Shawn's birthday party went off without a hitch.

Jinny was very happy to see me, and we did our usual, "I'll hug you really tight and you pretend you're suffocating okay!" hug, while Joy, on the other hand, was most underjoyed. Kid took one look at me and started to wail, banshee style. She's at that age where strange people are not cool, and being that I don't see her very often, I fall under the strange bracket.

She did warm up to me, though. Took some chocolate and weird facial expressions on my part, but I cracked a smile out of her.

As for the guest of honour, Shawn arrived home on his 40th birthday to 40 guests and the grand affair of a decorated backyard, wait staff dressed in black, and a casino theme. Maggie went all out; hung up lots of lanterns, lights around their pool, fired up the hot tub, open bar, classy catering and a Vegas style night with roulette, craps and blackjack tables complete with dealers.

This is where my story starts to get pathetic. I take a good look around that gorgeous scene, people drinking, chatting, having fun, and realization slaps me a good one:

I
was
the
only
person
who
arrived
by
myself.

Every other woman in that room had a husband, fiancee or boyfriend. Everyone. Everyone but me, that is. Couples were draped around each other, mingling as couples and in general, doing that disgusting couple thing.

There are times in life when you feel bad, and times in life where you feel really bad. I fancy myself a Wonder Woman sometimes, I really do, because I know that no matter where life takes me, I'll be able to make it down that road myself without help from anybody else.

I don't want to have to need anyone; I don't like it because there's too much at stake. Mainly, my heart. But there is such a part of me that wants that couple thing, as nauseating as it may sometimes be. I want to be able to lean on someone sometimes, I want to take my significant other to parties like this and laugh with other nauseating couples.

It can really stink being surrounded by that, knowing you're the only one there going home alone.

Well, fuck it. If they're going to do what couples do best, I can do what singles do best. I got me a pack of cigarettes, a handful of casino chips, and made fast friends with the bartender. I smoked like a chimney, gambled my butt off, and drank like a fish.

That's the great thing about the Singles Club. You know you're going home alone and there's no one to answer to, so behave as badly as you damn well please. Membership has its privileges.