I'm destined to die alone, and a lot of it is my own fault.
In the past year, five of my friends have gotten engaged or married, and those are just the ones I give a sh*t enough about to remember off of the top of my head. I'm one of the last "single friends" left, despite not really being "single."
At this rate? Never.
There are a few reasons for this: We're happy as is, we like keeping our finances separate (what's mine is mine, what's his is his, and my credit remains as flawless as Beyonce's existence), and really, we've both been just too busy with other people's weddings and with our own day-to-day lives to even contemplate it — beyond the fact that if we ever get married, we're inviting Andrew WK and the Rock to our wedding.
The wedding that will probably never happen, that is. Why? Because, well, I'm admittedly not the easiest woman to live with, let alone live with ostensibly forever (or not forever, but with a lot of annoying paper work to get rid of me).
Here's why I seriously don't blame my man, or any other man, for never marrying me ever. Seriously.