Finally, a benefit to celibacy

The bad news: I went home from work early yesterday thanks to overwhelming nausea, which may have been caused by any number of things, from medication to weather to stress, and it’s still lingering today.

The good news? A happy bonus of being a sexless spinster is that it’s damn sure not caused by pregnancy.

In which I have no interest in sexually transmitting the common cold

The bad news: I had to postpone the other OkCupid date I had scheduled tomorrow. I still have residual plague and it really wouldn’t be cute if I were coughing up my entire lung over coffee.

The good news: Now there’s time to get my hair cut and colored, get various waxes and a manicure like I’m an Actual Woman, and for my menstrual cycle to end, because I’m definitely not above third base on a first date. (He gives good text; he can skip ahead a bit.)

Make way for my Dating Representative, y’all. She’s virtually hairless and wears heels. It’s on.

“May I be excused? I seem to have the plague.”

Sick Singleton. Fuuuuck everything except tea, blankets, and drugs.

This is why I hate people. I was unemployed for almost a year and not one germ found me. Working for a month, interacting with humanity — bam, plague.

If I die, tell that one guy that never sleeping with him is one of my only regrets. That, and the time I got bangs. So it’s a pretty big deal.