And Just WHICH Type of Single Are You?

Don't you just love answering questions to utility companies and other corporations over the phone?

Frankly, I'm so tired of the time wasted by the ingratiating unctiousness of the call centre employees at the other end and I'm used to what the questions will be, that I simply reel them off like a hail of bullets.

First name, surname, postcode, first line of address, home telephone number, mobile number, work number, e-mail, then...

'SINGLE'

And I remember in the days when I used to process loan applications we'd always get the ones who'd say 'I live with my partner.'

That wasn't the question. In fact, for the purposes of that particular question, it is irrelevant. The options are 'Married, Widowed, Divorced....or Single.'

So for me, the question will never, ever need any thought. For these sorts of purposes, my official status is, and always will be, single.

But of course, this is why so many people feel the need to tell the person asking about their attached status.
Because they see themselves as 'attached'. But for the purposes of the question being asked, they're single.

Being single is a complex thing. Being single comes in many vibrant colours and several shades of grey.

And some of those types of single aren't actually so very single at all.

'Single' means, my life is my business. It doesn't concern officialdom and it doesn't concern you.
Even when I've been attached, I've never felt the need to say 'Well, I live my girlfriend'. Why tell them? They didn't ask. You have the option to use the 'Mind your own business' answer, revel in that freedom.

This is one of my gripes against 'Miss' and 'Mrs'. Women now can use 'Ms'. They have the option not to show their marital status in their title. I tend to have little respect for a 'Mrs' because she is someone quite happy to advertise the fact she's given up her own birthname and taken on that of a man. And a 'Miss' to me, is someone who one day wants to be a 'Mrs'. A 'Ms' is relishing the fact no man owns her in that sense, and no man ever will.

My Mum hates the fact I send her Xmas cards and birthday cards to 'Ms Crushed', but fact is, as I tell her, I just don't like using 'Mrs' and will make the political point if I have to.

I suppose really, in many ways, that's one of my main gripes about marriage. Having to make a public statement about it.
I resent having to make a statement about ANY of it.
It's my business, no one else's.

Single. Covers everything.

At one end of the scale is the irresolutely and truly single. The person who really has determined to eschew all human contact of an intimate type. Or the person who just can't, for whatever reason, get that contact.

And at the other end we have 'Well, I live with my partner'.



And in between we have varying levels, the serial monogamist, the person who thrives on one stands alone, and then we have those of us who just go with the flow, drifting aimlessly from one person's arms to another with no rules and no clear plan, sometimes passing like ships in the night, sometimes seeing several people at once with varying degrees of seriousness, sometimes going through periods of relative sparseness but never really nailing our colours to the mast and always ultimately ready to move on.

Single? I'm ALWAYS single. It just means different things at different times.

My friend the Chimney Sweep said of late 'Isn't it about time you sorted yourself some options out? It's not usually like you to go that long without sorting yourself out a couple of girls in the background somewhere?'

And I suppose, yes, that tends to sum up the general median position of my singlehood. A couple of girls in the background somewhere. Never really going anywhere and ready to be jettisoned should it ever look like it might.

I don't really like one night stands over much, but ultimately there's one thing I just fear losing.

The right to use that word.

Single.

I remember when I was little you occasionally used to come across people my parents used to call 'Fweinds', pronounced in that way.

What this meant was, this was the eighties. Homosexuality was legal, but outside London, still something that people didn't always shout about.

So in places like the civil service and other professions, it wasn't uncommon to find that there were people who had a partner of the same sex and lived with them, but it wasn't stated, not openly, only to people who knew them well, and even then, the partner wasn't referred to as a partner, but as a friend.

Of course people filled in the blanks correctly. They knew the friend was their partner.

But it was something that wouldn't have come up at their interview where they would have plumped for the 'single' card. And in fact, it might well be something their employer would NEVER know.

And it wouldn't be something they'd tell people when they first met them. They wouldn't hide it, per se, they might, if asked, say they lived with a friend. And in time it might click what type of friendship that was. But it was never stated. And people were enlightened enough to be discreet about what they'd sussed and not push the point.

In many ways, I think they were luckier than they realised. I really haven't a clue why gay rights groups want to push for gay marriage when in fact, they had the best deal.
They had the right to keep their personal relationships private and not have to make a public statement.

It often used to occur to me when myself and D shared this flat that it showed the pointlessness of the distinction.

Me and D shared a flat. It was no one's business. If people asked me about my personal life, I'd state that I was single. If they asked me if I lived alone, I'd say that I lived with a female friend. And I didn't have to say any more about it. Both statements were correct.

Neither of those points were any business of anyone I met. And no one asked questions. No one ever thought that me and D were some kind of inseparable twosome. No one who was asking me if I fancied doing something would feel they needed to factor D in, or vice versa. If I was invited to a party, it wouldn't be assumed I'd bring her, and the same would be true of her.

As far as friends and family were concerned, she was simply the girl I lived with. A friend, in the true sense of the word.

And I often wondered, why would all that change if we didn't just share a flat, but shared a bed?

I guess I would actually like to be able to actually do that- not with D obviously, but with someone- actually be a couple within the flat but present it to the world exactly as it was when I lived with D.

And oh, people would know. People who really knew you would know that you were obviously more than just friends from the way you were with eachother.

But why should you have to state it publicly? Why can't it stay your business and your business alone?



Why should I have to introduce the love of my life to my parents and say 'This is the woman I want to spend my life with'?
I never brought my mates round and said 'Here are the mates I want to have for life.'

The Chimney Sweep they've never even met.

Why can't I just introduce them to my new flatmate and leave it at that. In time I'm sure they'd work it out, but still, I don't see why I'm under any obligation to share my private life with them on whether I do or don't share my bed and my life with her.

And the same goes for my boss, my work colleagues, pretty much everyone.

I like to be able to say that I'm single. What it really means 'My love life is my business, you form whatever theories you want on the basis of what you see, but I'm not telling you either way. It's private.'

Maybe being a blogger makes you lucky. Because yes, when you are in love a part of you does want to shout it from the rooftops.

But to be honest, when It comes to the shouting it from the rooftops, I'd rather do it as an anonymous avatar using a pseudonym from a novel.

In real life, to me, that sort of thing, the person you actually say those three words to and mean them?

That's private.

It's between me and them.

And no one else.