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After I broke up with Jane II, I started going to the tanning salon. It helped color my blanched, tear-stained cheeks. I had to pay careful attention as to when to quit, so I didn't turn orange. You can always tell the careless suddenly-singles on the scene from their solar-white/blue bleached teeth, orange fake-bake complexion, and hair color from a bottle. They're also easily found in the health clubs, blubbering shamelessly while pumping iron.
The largest faction of singles are of course grouped on a Friday or Saturday night at a selection of clubs specially designed for them. But again, the fresh singles are easily differentiated from the pack: They are the ones at the beginning of the evening who enter the joint grinning widely and looking like they found the promised land, while the end of the evening finds them either shocked at their solitude or sh#tfaced.
I’ve noticed that pockets of damaged humans can also be spotted at Barnes & Noble in the self-help section, hunched and poring over some book like "Do I Have to Give Up Meat to be Loved by You?", "Single Again -- Stopping the Insanity", "I'm OK, You're OK, but I'm Lying -- You're Not OK", or "Loving Yourself -- Looks Like You'll Have To Now". They have a perpetually confused look on their face, as if asking the world where they went wrong. You can tell how freshly single they are from the grace of their smile. (I'm still working on mine.) Newly floundering singles, such as I was, smile crazy-like, as though they just dropped acid, drank a pot of coffee and ate a lemon. This is likely a breakup reaction developed by nature to protect others from this person, much as the pine tree emits terpines to keep cute and loveable woodland creatures from nibbling its cones.
Fresh singles rarely get their cones nibbled.
