To be back in the office when I feel shouldn’t have to work for a living at all is one thing, but to fire up my work email and find a message from the building ‘concierge’ about desperation and hope? Well, it’s nearly too much.
The message describes a singles gala dance to be held on New Year’s Eve. The email wasn’t sent until December 28, 2006. Who doesn’t already have plans by that point? Oh, right, the singles.
The larger tragedy is not that the singles have to pretend to cancel other plans to attend but that the the heading of the email was New Year's Eve Single’s Gala. Why am I picturing a solitary sap in an ill fitting suit holding a dried up corsage while the light from the disco ball mocks him? And why would I mention my prom night at a time like this?
No matter where you put the apostrophe, it’s all a bit of a catastrophe isn't it? Singles? You’re sad. And even my building concierge knows it.