"We are not typical single people," says my friend Daniel
Daniel and I met years ago when we were sharing a workspace. We're unlikely cohorts: I'm a Jewish guy raised in NY, on the brink of being 60, a chronic complainer and a man about town. Daniel is 25 years younger, Asian-American, a handsome mid-west boy, and given his druthers, would rather be a hermit. We aren't slaves to our jobs, so we have plenty of time to enjoy one another's company. Oh, and we're both single.
We're out for a night on the town in NYC, which means Thai dinner, a pre-concert beer, a recital at Carnegie Hall, downtown for dessert and the obligatory pull of a MacDonald's cheeburger.
"Daniel, I just know how anyone puts up with dating. I mean, people work long hours at these jobs, they have kids and pets to take care of, they live in far off places, and we're expected to wait around while they get their shit together so they can go out on dates?"
Daniel looks at me in wonder. "Rav, don't you understand: WE ARE NOT TYPICAL! We make our own hours, we've got plenty of money, we've got the time because we're lucky."
What a depressing thought: plenty of time, nobody around.