I got an email today from someone looking for info on how to groom your friends to be wingwomen. Truth be told, I haven’t had a wingwoman in, oh, eight years? That’s what happens when people get married and have boyfriends. If you don’t have to be on the scene, why on earth would you? Though I think at this point, I have some friends who would enjoy having a front row seat to my hemming and hawing over the mens. (Case in point: When telling Pia tonight how I drowned my gym crush in drool, she was like, “Why don’t you just go talk to him?” And if she were at the gym super-setting with me, I have no doubt there would have been an introduction, and I’d either be sitting on my couch crying over rejection or planning an outfit for a date with this poor man I stalk from time to time.)
Lack of a wingwoman hasn’t been such a bad thing, though. I think it’s important to learn how to show up alone. The first 537 times, it’s tough. I won’t lie. And I’m not sure it ever gets so easy I don’t think about it. But did I think twice about going to the 930 club alone last night because all of a sudden I had to go to the Wale/K’naan show and couldn’t find anyone to go with me? Not at all. And yes, I stood there in the sea of pimply faced white boys and had a pretty good time. (Kind of totally obsessed with K’naan right now.) Did I feel self conscious in between sets while everyone else was talking to their friends? Sure. Was it creepy when I realized one guy was standing 1.765 inches behind me when there was 5 feet of room he had to work with? Absolutely. But I’m alright with the flying solo business every now and again, because, for nothing else, I can leave whenever I feel like it. And that is gold.
As for wingwoman grooming, Ima have to think about that one. I will say, that bitch better not try to steal what should be mine. Just kidding. Sort of.