Most people think that the only reason why single women are, well, single is because there is scarcity of men who are willing to date them, later on wife them. But that is not true. At least not entirely.

Take me, for example; a single woman of a certain age. Not so old that I deserve to be labeled as a hopeless spinster…yet. 

Not so young that I don’t feel personally attacked when people open their ‘big’mouths and start asking me very personal questions like "how old are you?” Even when those people are doctors and they obviously need the information for medical reasons.

Anyway, until recently, I was in a complete desert as regards relationships and other related situations. Even the men who had promised that they wouldn’t give up pursuing me until I got a ring on my finger suddenly stopped calling and texting.

Naturally, I thought my phone had a problem. So I went to the service centre to have it checked out. It was found to be in perfect condition. When I went back home that evening and stared at my phone whose battery had remained completely full due to low usage, I cried unto God to end my suffering.

The following morning, I got a text from Brian, a guy whose number I had ‘accidentally’ dialed when I was ‘accidentally’ dialing numbers of people who had shown interest in me in the past. (Yes I went that far. And before you judge me, refer to the bible verse about casting the first stone). 

Anyway, Brian asked me out on a date and I obliged. Having first met him when I still had the vainness of youth, I had written him off on account of his unsophistication. I had now grown to find unsophistication quite endearing. 

Before long, I liked him enough to tell my friends about him. Of course, I was careful to leave out the part where I dialed his number. I didn’t want those judgmental rumour-mongering females to think that I was previously not ‘single and loving it.’

A few weeks later, Edwin, the one I lost to outside countries came back. He wanted to "talk about us.” Then I ran into Emma, the one I lost due to my mother’s wrath when she found that at twelve, I was writing love letters to a fifteen year-old boy. Emma was now a tall drink of water. He wanted me too.

In a nutshell, it rained men. 

I foolishly started thinking of myself as a star of a romantic comedy about a girl who has to choose between three guys. 

Otherwise it does not make sense as to why I sent a text to each of the three men telling them that there were two others and I needed to make a choice. "I just wanted to be honest with you.”

I had expected that they would say the heroic things the people in the movie say. "Pick me.” "I will fight for you.” "I understand and I will wait patiently.” 

Now I’m alone again feeling very judged by my phone with its full battery.