How to Be Single Read Online Free Page A

terrified I am when Ruby celebrates her four-month anniversary with someone. If she ends up breaking up with someone after a few years of living together, well, I don’t think at this point there are enough years left in her life to get over him.
    Which is why she decided to get Ralph. Ruby was tired of being disappointed. And as long as she kept her windows closed and doors not ajar, Ralph would never leave her. And Ruby would never have to be disappointed again. But Ruby didn’t know about feline chronic renal failure. And now, well, now Ralph was the best cat there ever was. Ralph made her happier than any animal or human could have ever possibly made her and she has no idea how she will ever live without him. She still manages to work. She’s got her own business as an executive recruiter, and she has clients who rely on her to get their asses jobs. And thank God for them, because she will always get out of bed to help someone in need of a good nonlateral job placement. But a Saturday afternoon is much different. Ruby isn’t budging.
    Until I told her about Georgia. How her husband left her for a samba instructor and she’s devastated and wants to go out and feel good about life. Then, Ruby understood completely. Ruby understood that there are moments when no matter how badly you feel, it’s your duty to get out of the house and help deceive a newly single person into believing that everything is going to be okay. Ruby knew, intuitively, that this was just such a night.
    How I’m Single
    Let’s be honest. I’m not doing it any better. I date, I meet men at parties and at work, or through friends, but things never seem to “work out.” I’m not crazy, I don’t date crazy men. Things just don’t “work out.” I look at couples walking down the street and I want to shake them, to beg them to answer my question, “How did you guys figure that out?” It has become the Sphinx for me, the eternal mystery. How do two people ever find each other in this city and “work out”?
    And what do I do about it? I get upset. I cry. I stop. And then I cheer up and go out and be absolutely charming and have a great time as often as I can. I try to be a good person, a good friend, and a good member of my family. I try to make sure there isn’t some unconscious reason why I’m still single. I keep going.
    â€œYou’re single now because you’re too snobby.” That’s Alice’s answer every time the subject comes up. Meanwhile, I don’t see her married to the handsome gentleman working at the fruit stand on the corner of Twelfth and Seventh who seems to have taken quite a shine to her. She is basing this judgment on the fact that I refuse to date online. In the good old days, online dating was considered a hideous embarrassment, something that no one would be caught dead admitting to. I loved that time. Now the reaction you will get from people when they hear that you’re single and not doing some form of online dating is that you must not really want it that bad. It has become the bottom line, the litmus test for how much you’re willing to do for love. As if your Mr. Right is definitely, absolutely guaranteed to be online. He’s waiting for you and if you’re not willing to spend the 1,500 hours, 39 coffees, 47 dinners, and 432 drinks to meet him, then you just don’t want to meet him badly enough and you deserve to grow old and die alone.
    â€œI don’t think you’re really open to love yet. You’re not ready.” That’s Ruby’s answer. I’m not even going to dignify it with a response—except to say, I didn’t know that finding love had become something equivalent to becoming a Jedi Knight. I didn’t know there were years of psychic training, metaphysical trials to endure, and rings of fire to jump through before I could get a date for my cousin’s wedding in May. And