We live in a singlist world. It doesn't do to be 'just the one'. Couple up or be banished to restaurant Siberia. Don't even think about walking into a bar and having a drink by yourself. Prepare to be treated like a weirdo when you travel alone and not obviously on business.
I don't hear many men moaning about this, but some of my girlfriends in full-blown-rose mode - the irresistible fragility we achieve, just before our petals drop off - seem almost suicidal about solo-dom.
Snap out of it, weepers. Get happy. Stop waiting for the fantasy that the future may never bring. Haven't we all resisted retiring to an echo-y bedchamber, wishing there were someone to cuddle ... but haven't we all, also, if only now and then, wished that the head on the other pillow wasn't his ?
All your friends are happily married? Zoom: how many of those gargoyle husbands would you swap your freedom for? Why do we need another human being to validate who we are?
Compromising one's existence for second best is never a good idea. Single life is pretty desirable, most of the time. The smug marrieds may conspire to have us believe otherwise, but only because it is they who crave validation.
Burn the Dyptique candles. Fling out the old bedlinen infested with memories, and make a date with the White Company. Fill the freezer with Haagen Dazs and king prawns. Eat them together if you like, in bed, while watching old episodes of 'Thunderbirds'. Lust all you like after Geoff Tracey. Wake up to pristine sheets.
Partners come and go. The only person you can rely on for the rest of your life is you. Make friends. Treat her nicely and she'll treat you in turn to years of good, honest fun. Your mates like her. Most of your married girlfriends secretly envy her.
Everything ends. Every blissful match made in heaven concludes with a heart torn in two.