Here's a place to talk about the relationships in your life whenever you want.
"Over a lifetime, unmarried women can pay as much as a million dollars more than their married counterparts for healthcare, taxes, and more," says the Atlantic, which is rapidly becoming the go-to destination for all your sad single lady headlines.
The article, "The High Price of Being Single," lays out the myriad of legal ways unmarrieds get screwed on the financial front with a bunch of numbers representing health care costs, social security benefits and housing.
My eyes started glazing over as soon as they started talking tax filing status because math, but I tried to soldier on till the end like I do with every story about the plight of the single woman since she is me. About halfway through I thought, "Why am I reading this?"
Sure it makes sense to know exactly what my future could look like as a lifetime spinster; according to the Atlantic I'd lose out on anywhere from $400,000 to $1,000,000 dollars by leaving my ring finger naked. But what now? What am I doing with that information besides rage banging my laptop and emailing all my single friends, "Have you seen this shit?!"
The tragic unmarried is quickly becoming the mascot of my generation. She (or he) will earn less, die young and will probably be depressed during his or her short and sucktastic single life. Whenever a new study comes out bemoaning the sad state of those among us who are unhitched, I pore over the doomsday data and waste hours of my life, but I'm never left with more than a "Meh" type feeling.
I mean where am I supposed to go from there? Straight to the altar?
Although it's arguably smarter to face the years ahead armed with the details, these days I'm all about an ignorance-is-bliss philosophy when it comes to the racks on racks on racks of stats about that single life. Because there isn't a cheat sheet for the Choose Your Adventure book. You can't flip to the back for the answer key to your own life, right?
Maybe I've just got voter fatigue. The stump speeches are getting to me and I'm the chick in the back of the crowd shouting, "You lie!" Or maybe all these stories are part of a larger conspiracy to get me to buy Steve Harvey's entire literary canon?
What enrages me most is that I'll probably still consume the next "Your Feet Will Fall Off If You Don't Get Married By 37 According to the CDC" article because I'm a sucker, but I swear I don't want to be. What about y'all -- do you have the brain space for more bad news?