Yep, that’s right, being single is a disease. At least, that’s what I’ve been led to believe, chiefly by the actions my co-workers seem to be taking to ‘cure’ me of it.

I’m only twenty! I have my whole life ahead of me, but apparently not having a significant other is a bad way to be.

This I am being told by several happily-paired people in my life… as well as everything stupid their partners do and how annoying they are…

Here’s how a usual day at the deli goes. I work with proudly half-caste Kujo, and her best, New Zulland bud (also Kujo).

Miss C walks up to customer: Hi, how can I help you?

Kujo/s elbow Miss C in bony rib-cage (ouch!) and jibe with one of the following selection of… jibes… (where’s the synonym button when you need it?)

 ”The question is, how can he help you?”

“Give him your number!”

“Ooh, she’s hot, maybe you should swap teams?”

..huh?!

Not that I’m shallow.. well, I am, but come on, as if I’m going to jump the first tradie that walks past me! And my New Zulland Kujo in fact seems desperate to ‘cure’ me of my single disease. Or at least, that lurking childhood illness of virginity. One in every two shifts she is drilling me on men, my likes and dislikes, and then getting to the nitty-gritty:

“Do you want to have sex?” Kujo asks.

O.O

“Well what kind of question is that? I’m not frigid!”

“Aren’t you worried?”

At this point in the conversation (and trust me, it usually hits this point pretty early on, thanks to my dear, pessimistic and oh-so-thoughtful deli bud) I shoot her the accusatory frown and bark, “Why, should I be?”

The fact that the conversation runs less along the lines of finding yours truly’s true love, and more along the lines of giving nookie, leads me to believe that Kujo – currently in the honeymoon period of coupledom – is getting waay too much; and has therefore had an epiphony: *cue dramatic pose, hand on forehead* without it she was nothing, and now a renewed, rejuvenated, energised woman, has taken it upon herself to save me from the desperate throes of morbid self-gratification by hooking me up.

Meanwhile I am planning my next counter-attack, namely asking her if me and sex are on her mind so much maybe she should just lay me and get it out of her system. Of course I’m joking, she’s too chromosomally advanced for my liking.

But then, should I be worried? Should I be concerned at her attempts to sell me to the tallest customer, when she is constantly hitting Big W for cheap bibs for her baby box? (She’s a forward thinker.) Obviously she’s nesting and while I understand it, I cannot live it.

The terrible, publicly indecent fact of the matter is I cannot get myself pregnant, and I’ll be damned if I let her do it! Obviously indirectly, but still… I never dreamed that 20 was old, and never once thought I was in a dire situation - or any situation at all – until the paranoia that has slowly crept in ever since she, and the other Kujo, were so verbally concerned for me!

And then there’s the party incident. This is a while back actually, but it stands fresh in my mind. One of our co-workers was leaving to go overseas and the two Kujos teamed up to make the ‘dynamic date-arranging duo’. (So what if it’s cliched?) We’re sitting in a circle, talking to a friend of our go-awayerer, (who is off somewhere dancing a beautifully sequened shirt, so long it could almost be a dress). Then Kujo (from now on there shall be no distinction – it’s pointless) comes up with something to slip easily into the conversation to change topic:

“Miss C is single you know.”

Well of course I go bright red. It is important to note at this point that my face has a mind of its own… so to speak…ahem… anyway, I constantly blush – when I am mildly embarrassed, when I overheat (and my head overheats randomly, it’s weird), and also, when ever my cheeks feel they need rejuvenation. Worse, is when I can feel it happening, and people look at me like ooh, she’s blushing and then judge why I’m embarrassed, and I get embarrassed and blush uber bad because I can usually guess why they think I’m blushing and I hate being judged like that!!

Whoo, moving on.

Before I get back to the party scene, I should give you the background to explain what Kujo said next.

There was in fact a third Kujo, a guy, funny but gross and when we closed the deli, he used to pretend he was ‘owning’ deli materials, if you catch my drift. You hear a ’squeakity-squeak’ of wheels, turn around, and there was Kujo, riding a trolley with vigour cowboy-style.

He called it taming.

Many a time I would walk around the corner, and he would be taming the edge of the bench, dominating the corner of the chicken-oven, or in the coldroom inexplicably on the top shelf, demanding the identity of said grill’s daddy. (Actually, the only exaggeration there was the daddy part – I swear to God I was putting ham away and he was up above me taming the cured meat shelf.)

So, can you guess what Kujo said to Mr Army Man at the party?

“She’s never been tamed.”

He didn’t get it, but every one else did. And then they said they had to go over the other side of the room and promptly left. In the ensuing uncomfortable half-hour I discovered that said army man, 24 and divorced, was still desperately in love with his cheating ex-wife, although he never said it in words, and even if he were my type I would not hook up to be an unpaid counsellor and rebound girl.

I also am extremely wary of getting into any more situations like that, and fully intend to avoid large social functions where I get left alone with any of the three Kujateers and an available male.

Well, that is all I have to say, I need to sleep and if I went on about it all you’d be even snorier than you are now!! Although, I’m sure my story is nothing in comparison to others, but it was enough for me! Keep half an eye open for more, as my life is getting increasingly complicated at this very moment.

So something to ponder… or laugh at.

Divorce: (v) future tense of marriage.