I was looking for some inspiration today for our Addicted to Love? column so I decided to revisit some of my old pieces. This one made me laugh out loud, so I decided to republish it in full. Yes, I am still single today, but for a reason I’ll call “patriarchal fatigue” instead of my former self sabotaging taste tribulations. I hope my ridiculousness amuses you as well, dear readers. A gem from 2014, check out our first Addicted to Love? Rerun.
______________________________________________________
My name is Nadia, and I have terrible taste in men.
I’m not sure what it is. Generally, I’m a good judge of character. I have awesome friends who have many incredible qualities that I admire. They make me a better person, and they’re always striving to be better to. But for some reason, the judgement I can show in friends and acquaintances completely disappears when it comes to the opposite sex.
Seriously, I have awful taste in men. If I have dated you, had a fling with you, showed any romantic interest in you or even glanced at you in an appraising manner, you should be extremely worried. Chances are, you’re a terrible human who’s done terrible things, or you’re going to be. Book a therapy session, do some soul searching, or maybe just lock yourself in your apartment until my interest in you passes and maybe you’ll have a chance to not be shitty.
In the past I’ve tried to defend my bad choices in men to those around me, or at least justify them to myself. “He’s in a weird place.” “People just don’t get him.” “I like that he doesn’t have a conventional job.” “His body is unreal.” I’ve finally hit the point of self awareness; these dudes are unworthy, no matter how cool they may seem or how many hours they may spend at the gym. Maybe I am picking unsuitable potential mates on purpose, subconsciously or otherwise. Maybe I don’t actually want a partner, I’m scared of commitment, appropriate psychobabble, etc. All I know is, I’m bad news bears when it comes to boys.
I finally have an answer to that age old question people seem to love asking me: Why am I single? Why? Because it’s probably safer for all of humanity, and myself for me to remain unattached. If I were to actually engage in a full fledged relationship chances are I’d uncover the next Hilter, the next Pulpot or the next Justin Bieber. So for the sanctity of all of our already mostly lost souls, I will remain single until I figure out how to spot a guy with good insides. Or until one trips and falls into my lap completely by accident. Either way, I’m playing it safe.
*this article may be a mild exaggeration. But only a mild one.
Nadia Elkharadly