So three guys walk into a club. Two are single and one's otherwise attached. The two single guys hit the dance floor ready to mingle and Mr. I Have A Girlfriend heads to the bar.
So two girls are at the bar. Both are single and cute. Dude With A Girl At Home strikes up a conversation with said single ladies that continues for the next 45 minutes or more. Then the lights come up, dumping the clubgoers in vampiric mace, and it's time to "not go home but get the hell outta here," The Boyfriend heads for the door with his boys.
"Wait," one of the girls from the bar says, "are you married?"
"Nah," answers the man trying to get home to his loved one. "I'm not married."
"Well, do you have a girlfriend?" she asks.
Thankfully, of course, his answer is "yes." But the second single lady, the friend, becomes incensed.
"You mean to tell me you sat here and talked to my girl for almost an hour and this whole time you had a girlfriend?! I mean you're cute and all but there's tons of cute guys in here she could've been talking to."
The Boyfriend, of course, is remorseful. He didn't mean to waste anyone's time, he just wanted to have a friendly chat by the bar as opposed to a bump and grind on the dance floor. So then he begins to tell the two girls about his lady, her name's Helena.
"Wait, Helena Andrews? The writer chick?"
Thankfully, of course, he answers "yes." But both girls are a bit incredulous.
"Does this mean she's gonna stop writing about being single?"
Ha! No. Well yes, kind of, sort of.
As most writers who have by a miracle of pluck and circumstance gotten someone to fall for them know, writing about being in the throes of love is somewhat akin to shouting "Veronica Corningstone and I had sex and now we are in love!" to random passersby. It's funny the first one or two times, but after that it's just plain annoying and maybe even a little bit crazy. (side note: The first synonym entry for crazy on thesaurus.com is "infautated, in love.")
So basically for the past year I've been trying very hard not to be a Love Nazi, someone who's been so brainwashed by the power of their singular experience that they force feed it down everyone else's throats -- or else.
Taking the reverse cue from D-List celebrities, which is always the smartest modus operandi, I've been cautious about how loudly I shout about love because as we all know that's how killer avalanches get started. The echoes of other people's opinions boomerang around the snow capped mountains of the internet and WHAM-O! Your relationship is now fodder for the "Why are all black women so sad, single and lonely?" debate that you sort of started (if you watch the accompanying "vid" we can't be friends anymore. It's the Lord Voldemort of my career).
I'm not one for changing my "status" on Facebook. That's just dumb. And after a while I even try to watch how many "Oh you can't survive without h2O? Neither can MY BOYFRIEND" bombs I drop. Because although it's somewhat "newsworthy" that the woman who literally wrote (not the but) a book on being single is now decidedly less so, it's more important that I strengthen the invisible flubber that keeps the two of us connected by staying somewhat silent on the subject. At least until my next book.
What about you crazy kids in love? Are you a shout-from-the-mountaintop-type or is mum's the word when it comes to that tingly feeling in your chest area?