'Tis the season to be...

So this is the first time in seven years that I’ve had to endure singledom at Christmas. I never thought I’d say this, but all the complaining, cynicism and eventual drowning in wine and tears suffered by singles at this time of year is completely justified. Suddenly the things that I used to find endearing while I was blissfully happy, like couples ice skating or gazing into each other’s eyes over coffee, now just makes me want to hurl baubles at them. Or tell myself that he is probably cheating and she must be awful in bed.

It wouldn’t be so unbearable if I could do all the things I want to do to keep my mind off the fact that nobody loves me. But no, everywhere I go is chock-full with happy couples. They’re riding the tube, cuddling in the theatre, walking hand in hand in the park. Even buying books together in Waterstones. I’m not sure if there are more of them this year, of if it’s just more apparent now that I am looking through the eyes of a single. Either way, I’ve had enough.

I am not leaving the house until Christmas is over and all those warm festive feelings that have been flying around are replaced with the empty feeling of depression that arrives every January. I will curl up in front of the fire, consume endless amounts of mulled wine and mince pies, and watch every episode of Sex and the City that reminds you that men are the devil and that the most important relationship is the one you have with yourself.