Shockingly, I didn’t find my Prince Charming during the past year of quarantine. I found something better—a foolproof excuse for my perpetual single status. 

I finally had an excuse for my parents, relatives, and peers —I didn’t have a boyfriend solely because I was being a smart, decent person who cares about others’ health. No other reason. It was a lot like the secret euphoria of being able to cancel plans you made when you were in a much more extroverted mood, without considering that you probably wouldn’t feel up to it when the time came to follow through. 

For once, no more piteous glances as I bought Valentines candy for myself. (Hey, more for me, right?) No more well meaning, but nosy relatives speaking in hushed tires—“so, is there a special someone?”—as I scrambled to come up with a not-completely-pitiful explanation. No more parties, no more PDA. No more accidental third-wheeling. Finally, peace.

In March, I leaned into the whole self-love trend. However, I must admit that a month into quarantine, things got pretty lonely. At this point, I had redownloaded Duolingo, because I was sure this time I would actually become fluent in French. I mean, what else was I going to do with all this free time? Spoiler: not French (or French kissing – hey, it’s a pandemic!)

I had watched the Tiger King saga, attempted a TikTok dance or two and baked banana bread, just like every other American who’s any fun at all. But my to-do list quickly ran dry, giving me way too much time to think about the curse that is my lifelong romance-less existence.  

So I did what every millennial or Gen Z does when they desperately need an ego boost—I downloaded Tinder. I lasted a day. Next, I tried Hinge. Maybe it would be better? No such luck. Finding a relationship on dating apps seems a whole lot to me like the Bible verse that talks about how getting into Heaven is harder than a camel walking through the eye of a needle—it seems pretty impossible to me, but supposedly some people do it. I mean, as much as I love puzzles, playing Where’s Waldo with your dating profile pictures doesn’t exactly spur attraction (seriously, which one are you?) 

Although there were slim pickings for actual relationship material (last time I checked, being really freaking awesome at holding ugly fish isn’t at the top of my “what to look for in a boyfriend” list), Hinge did its job. A few people called me pretty and smart to draw me in before showcasing their creepy side, and that was sufficient for me. I’ve always been a fierce proponent of white lies.

I’m not completely lame—back in April, I’m pretty sure I tricked a guy I was interested in into “talking” to me (as the young folk call it) until July, when he must have suddenly realized he had been duped and promptly “ghosted” me just in time for school to start. Honestly, it was very considerate of him to stay invested just long enough to fill the monotony of my empty summer quarantine days with some drama and excitement. 

The rest of the year was disappointingly lacking in the romance department, but it’s okay, because at least I didn’t go on a date without realizing it was a date (yes, that’s happened to me) or find out one of my crushes was gay (that’s also happened to me—twice). And my track record this year is looking a lot better than Pilot Pete’s, so it could always be worse. 

Alas, another Valentine’s Day is approaching, and unless something drastic happens in the next week, I’ll once again be at Kroger February 15 for some discounted Hershey Kisses. What can I say? I take what I can get. 

As the year of quarantine seems to be nearing its end, I’m back on the hunt for romance. Who knows, maybe I’ll finally figure out which guy in the Hinge group picture is Drew.  But, let’s be realistic, I’ll settle for a new excuse for my singleness.