"I'm still trying to figure out why you are single."

I was in a fighty mood yesterday by the time I met up with Ms. K for beer in Midtown -- fighty because of some ongoing bullshit at work. Needless to say my level of mental energy was somewhere near
Level 8: STORM THE BARRICADES! This translated into me grilling Ms. K a little bit. Ooops.

"Why are you so nervous around me?" I demanded . . . gently. Hopefully.

After a short bit where I could tell she was thinking of how to phrase her answer in the most delicate way, she said, "I'm still trying to figure out why you are single--"

"The $64,000 question."

"--and I keep waiting for you to reveal some deep dark secret because it makes no sense."

I'm sure there was a complement wrapped up in there somewhere.

"The answer is that there is no answer," I confessed with the shrug of a shoulder.

Yes, folks. I don't have two heads nor sporting any facial deformities. I'm not missing large tracts of my gene sequencing. I'm not diseased. I'm not socially awkward. I'm not narcoleptic. I don't have a problem with personal hygiene. And despite my above average intelligence and dashing good looks, I was single for three and a half years. The people who followed that dry spell weren't exactly winners either.

Perhaps some of you in blog land have been wondering the same question. I'm guessing this because Ms. Y and I had a similar conversation back in June. She hypothesized that I am merely a picky person. I hypothesized that I pissed off one of the more major gods. But there had to be a reason for all the dreck and frustration, right? I certainly learned to be a strong, self reliant woman in that time. And that must count for something.