According to Carrie
It's Okay to be Single
“I still don’t know what the big deal is!” Brooks sighed for the fifth time.
And I hadn’t expected him to. He thought that it was also okay to broadcast to my creepy next-door neighbour that even though we were out together, we were not out together. Being single is like having your death certificate signed. The only guys left single were the ones that were single for a reason, not the kind of guys I want trying to woo me.
Brooks, on the other hand, saw nothing wrong with being single. You didn’t have to worry about making someone else happy for the rest of your life, he’d told me on numerous occasions, and when you’re single, you can have lots of random, anonymous sex.
“That’s all fine for you, maybe, but you don’t have all these single creepy guys following you around! It’s like I have a giant neon sign hovering over my head that reads creepy guys welcome! I’ve been single too long to have standards!”
Brooks laughed out loud. “I think you’re being overdramatic,” he said as we walked through the mall.
“Am I? You’re single because you choose to be. I, on the other hand, am single because no normal guy wants me!”
Perhaps my protests had been a little too loud, because a line of guys a couple of feet in front of us turned to look. Brooks elbowed me in the side gently. “I bet the guy in the blue is single,” he leaned down to whisper in my ear.
I retaliated by smacking his stomach with the back of my hand. “He has a unibrow!” I hissed, turning to him slightly.
“That isn’t a unibrow – there just isn’t any distinguishing space between his brows.”
I pouted at him. “Do you see? Single for a reason.”
We took a seat in the food court as we waited for the line in front of the Thai place to go down. “You’re so shallow, Carrie. Cosmetic discrepancies can easily be fixed.”
“But just knowing that he has a unibrow is a deal breaker.”
“If I had a unibrow, would you stop hanging out with me?”
“I’d look past the unibrow – you have dimples.”
When I looked up, he was looking up at me with a smile. “Come on – the line’s gone down.”
As he stood, he held his hand out to me. I looked at it, and then calmly back at him. He just grinned and wiggled his fingers in my direction. “What are you doing?” I asked, hoping that he would explain how he had Parkinson’s, and how he was not actually expecting me to hold that hand.
“Trying to get you to hold my hand, but since you seem to be retarded, I’m going to have to be more forceful.”
I bit my lip, but accepted his hand. I had an inkling of why he was doing this, and my suspicions were confirmed when he ‘accidentally’ bumped into the table Mr. Unibrow was sitting at. “Sorry man,” Brooks said immediately.
I could feel Mr. Unibrow’s eyes following us, but I didn’t turn around. Brooks hand stayed attached to mine as we scooted up closer to the counter.
“Can you get AIDS from secondary transfer?” I asked suddenly.
He looked at me, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in the middle, the grip on my hand slackened. “I don’t think you can get AIDS unless you mix fluids. Why?”
I shrugged, our hands swinging. “Well, because I’m touching your hand, and your hand as been touching your –” I yelped when he pulled me towards him, and pinned me to him in a giant bear hug.
“Come on Carrie,” he said smoothly, “what were you going to say?”
My chin was on his chest, as I maintained an innocent look with a large grin. “Hockey stick,” I finished ingenuously.
He laughed loudly, gave me a squeeze, and then let go. I exhaled noisily. “Finally. Room to breathe.”
“Don’t you like the way I smell?”
“It makes me light-headed.”
“Because you forget to breathe.”
“Because I can’t breathe,” I clarified. Upon seeing the cheeky little grin on his face, I grimaced. “What did I just say to you?”
“That you find me stunningly gorgeous and I smell like something that makes you dizzy.”
“A bad kind of dizzy,” I tried to defend.
A boyish smile lit up his face and he gestured me forward with a sweep of his hand. “Ladies first.”
Even though I stepped forward towards the counter, I was looking over my shoulder at him. “Brooks Laich, I am not attracted to you.”
He shrugged. “Everyone goes through denial every once in a while.”
I turned to the girl behind the counter with a reluctant sigh. I wasn’t in denial. Really, I wasn’t.
And I hadn’t expected him to. He thought that it was also okay to broadcast to my creepy next-door neighbour that even though we were out together, we were not out together. Being single is like having your death certificate signed. The only guys left single were the ones that were single for a reason, not the kind of guys I want trying to woo me.
Brooks, on the other hand, saw nothing wrong with being single. You didn’t have to worry about making someone else happy for the rest of your life, he’d told me on numerous occasions, and when you’re single, you can have lots of random, anonymous sex.
“That’s all fine for you, maybe, but you don’t have all these single creepy guys following you around! It’s like I have a giant neon sign hovering over my head that reads creepy guys welcome! I’ve been single too long to have standards!”
Brooks laughed out loud. “I think you’re being overdramatic,” he said as we walked through the mall.
“Am I? You’re single because you choose to be. I, on the other hand, am single because no normal guy wants me!”
Perhaps my protests had been a little too loud, because a line of guys a couple of feet in front of us turned to look. Brooks elbowed me in the side gently. “I bet the guy in the blue is single,” he leaned down to whisper in my ear.
I retaliated by smacking his stomach with the back of my hand. “He has a unibrow!” I hissed, turning to him slightly.
“That isn’t a unibrow – there just isn’t any distinguishing space between his brows.”
I pouted at him. “Do you see? Single for a reason.”
We took a seat in the food court as we waited for the line in front of the Thai place to go down. “You’re so shallow, Carrie. Cosmetic discrepancies can easily be fixed.”
“But just knowing that he has a unibrow is a deal breaker.”
“If I had a unibrow, would you stop hanging out with me?”
“I’d look past the unibrow – you have dimples.”
When I looked up, he was looking up at me with a smile. “Come on – the line’s gone down.”
As he stood, he held his hand out to me. I looked at it, and then calmly back at him. He just grinned and wiggled his fingers in my direction. “What are you doing?” I asked, hoping that he would explain how he had Parkinson’s, and how he was not actually expecting me to hold that hand.
“Trying to get you to hold my hand, but since you seem to be retarded, I’m going to have to be more forceful.”
I bit my lip, but accepted his hand. I had an inkling of why he was doing this, and my suspicions were confirmed when he ‘accidentally’ bumped into the table Mr. Unibrow was sitting at. “Sorry man,” Brooks said immediately.
I could feel Mr. Unibrow’s eyes following us, but I didn’t turn around. Brooks hand stayed attached to mine as we scooted up closer to the counter.
“Can you get AIDS from secondary transfer?” I asked suddenly.
He looked at me, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in the middle, the grip on my hand slackened. “I don’t think you can get AIDS unless you mix fluids. Why?”
I shrugged, our hands swinging. “Well, because I’m touching your hand, and your hand as been touching your –” I yelped when he pulled me towards him, and pinned me to him in a giant bear hug.
“Come on Carrie,” he said smoothly, “what were you going to say?”
My chin was on his chest, as I maintained an innocent look with a large grin. “Hockey stick,” I finished ingenuously.
He laughed loudly, gave me a squeeze, and then let go. I exhaled noisily. “Finally. Room to breathe.”
“Don’t you like the way I smell?”
“It makes me light-headed.”
“Because you forget to breathe.”
“Because I can’t breathe,” I clarified. Upon seeing the cheeky little grin on his face, I grimaced. “What did I just say to you?”
“That you find me stunningly gorgeous and I smell like something that makes you dizzy.”
“A bad kind of dizzy,” I tried to defend.
A boyish smile lit up his face and he gestured me forward with a sweep of his hand. “Ladies first.”
Even though I stepped forward towards the counter, I was looking over my shoulder at him. “Brooks Laich, I am not attracted to you.”
He shrugged. “Everyone goes through denial every once in a while.”
I turned to the girl behind the counter with a reluctant sigh. I wasn’t in denial. Really, I wasn’t.
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