The Story of My Life
A few weeks ago, I joined a singles group that plays wallyball (volleyball in a racquetball court, if you aren’t familiar) on Wednesday nights. After that, we go out for dinner at a sports bar near where we play. I’m having a good time, and (with a few notable exceptions) enjoy the group. Fortunately, I had a couple of friends I’d made gaming that introduced me to people. However . . .
It fits with every other time I try to meet people that I have joined a singles group in which 80%-90% of the women come as part of a couple. No matter what I try, I can’t meet single women. I do things that ought to lead to that, but doesn’t. I’ve tried book clubs; all of them not only read books I don’t like, but all of the women are attached. I’ve become something close to an insider for a women’s hockey team; all of the women I’ve met are married, except for the players and two who would be married if the state of Minnesota would let them. I entered a master’s program, and every single woman in it was either married, something close to it, or going back to China as soon as they graduated; that’s not an exaggeration. Every single one.
And now, the first singles group I’ve joined that wasn’t someone selling me an event is full of married or engaged women. Somehow, there is something very wrong with that. It’s like the job search: I’m trying every fucking thing I’m supposed to, and none of it gets me anywhere.
Somewhere in Minneapolis, there is a married guy who meets nothing but single women, and I wish I thought that he was as pissed off about this as I am.