By Grace Hamilton, Opinions and Editorials Editor

Hey, it’s me. The girl in the back of the coffee shop who’s been staring at you and your significant other for the past 20 minutes while chewing on her hoodie strings.

No, no, not that one, the one – yeah, to your left. Yeah, with last night’s mascara still smudged under my eyes. Yeah – yes, I have been wearing this shirt for three days straight. And – yes, yeah, you’re right – I slept in it last night, too.

Why am I not ashamed that I haven’t washed my face or changed my clothes in multiple days, and the smell of Tito’s is leaking from my every pore?

Because I’m single! That’s right, there is no one waiting up for me. No texts to check. No one to cuddle. No one to play footsie with under the table in this Starbucks – which, like, quit it by the way.

Why am I happy that I’m forever alone? I’ll gladly tell you.

First of all, the other night I got groped at Dana’s by a 40- year- old man – you don’t get that kind of action when you’re standing next to your forever-and-always. I mean, did I like it? Hell no. Did I get a free drink out of the experience?

Also no. But I could have! Which wouldn’t have (almost) happened if I were in a happy and committed relationship.

Where are my consolation drinks at, am I right?! No? Don’t give me the counseling number, I know it already – whatever, moving on.

Second reason I love my lonely life? I regularly get to sit on the couch and listen to my engaged roommates giggle and laugh with each other. How exhausting that’s gotta be. I’d rather eat paint chips than pretend anything a man has ever said is funny. Instead, I get to become one with this stained recliner while eating mayonnaise out of the jar with my bare hands – I know which situation I’m choosing. Every. Single. Time.

Pop the lid on that mayonnaise, babe. I’ve already got reruns of “Suits” playing.

You want a third reason? I can keep going all night. I haven’t shaved my legs in months. It’s ‘70s shag carpeting all up and down my shins, and I’ve never been more comfortable. There’s no expectation over here anymore. I’ve got a handlebar mustache growing thicker than my non-existent boyfriend’s ass, and I am beyond proud of it.

No dinner dates. No late night ice cream. No big spoon/little spoon. No kisses or hugs or baby talk. No pet names. No hand holding. No meeting the parents. No “I love you mores”. I ate chocolate covered strawberries and stained my white t-shirt beyond repair, then stayed on the toilet for more than an hour, because I can’t eat chocolate. When I finally stood up, my legs had fallen asleep, and I tumbled straight into my bathroom sink. I have a cut on my face the size of Texas and two black eyes.

You don’t get that kinda night when you’re Mr. and Mrs. Til Death Do Us Part.

So? Be single and be happy about it. I sure am.

Wait. Sorry – you have a single friend? It’s a girl?

…Can I get her number?