Introducing... The Single Girl's Guide to Being Single

With Cadbury’s endorsing the Olympics, I have been forced to consider just how terrible I am at sport. Nevertheless, if there is one thing I can guarantee, it’s a gold medal in being single.

Sure, the first cut is the deepest and at first I was afraid, I was petrified, but I’m an independent woman (some mistake us for whores), and I don’t need a man to make me feel good; I get off doing my thing.

Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a series of intense, man-hating articles (Will Green has already told me such literature is not welcome here). Instead, I plan to enlighten the wonderful readers of The Pessimist Chronicles on the various boring, embarrassing events of my single life which, as many friends have told me, only ever seem to happen to me. At the same time I hope to provide a little guidance (or at least a paradigm of what to desperately avoid) for all those single pringles out there. J

It was not my intention to write any more than an introduction to this today, but with the lovely, sunny weather we have at the moment, it seems the perfect time for the first official, although very succinct installment of The Single Girl’s Guide to Being Single…

The Single Girl’s Guide to Shaving in the Summer

Last weekend, an entire hour of Ryan Gosling dreamtime was cruelly snatched away in preparation for summer. The sun seems to be smiling down upon us earlier than usual this year, and so it is time to buy this:

Whilst my wardrobe is looking very happy and Topshop’s profit margins are up, my routine longs for those cold winter days where my stubbly stilts were hidden beneath thick leggings and uggs.

(Now, to any guys reading this, avert those judging eyes. You complain about shaving that little bit of fluff from your face… try, just for a minute, to contemplate the surface area of a girl’s body that you expect to be de-haired)

So, the sun caught me by surprise this week and, whilst in the shower I was confronted with a tricky decision:

a)      Spend a good ten minutes shaving my legs and sacrifice my morning bowl of Frosties, or

b)      Wear leggings and feel like this guy for the rest of the day:

And then it hit me like a low-flying pigeon… only shave what’s going to be seen! (I would advise shaving an additional inch or two higher than necessary, especially if – like me – you lift your trousers up like an old man before you sit down). So, with my beloved chinos as my outfit of choice, I honestly just shaved the bottom half of my calves (which, alone is a substantial surface area…), thus preserving self-confidence, social expectations and my bowl of Frosties.

Genius. You can thank me later.

Harriet Baker