Over in the "Why are you single?" thread, Jezzy made the most awesome suggestion that we could use a "Why should you not be single?" thread.
Not that venting is a bad thing. Most of us are here largely out of frustrations over singleness and feeling like lone atheists isolated on our little desert isles around this planet. In which case ... Sell it! Take a moment to focus on the positive! Tell us all why you're awesome and what we're missing out on by not dating you! (At which point we'll seriously need to do some more venting about how we are totally awesome yet still feel alone and isolated on our little desert isles).
Kicking things off....
My social weakness is also my strength.
Asperger's may give me all the social grace of the bumbling, comic-relief sidekick in an action comedy, but it also means what you see is what you get. Judging from the stereotypical things-about-girls-that-frustrate-guys, I believe I should come as a welcome relief. For instance...
I don't play emotional guessing games.
I literally don't know how. If I'm mad at you I'll tell you why. If I can't bring myself to tell you why, then I don't feel I have a right to be mad at you.
I don't want you to be my therapist and I'm not going to try and be yours.
We all need to cry on a shoulder once in a while. But I'm not going to make you sit through hours of needy girl gossip or cling to you every second of the day. I'm not going to call you 5 times a day while you're at work and try to micromanage your life. If you go away on a business trip, provided I don't get a ransom demand or next-of-kin call from the ER I'll assume you got there safely. I'd love to hear the good news that your meeting was a success or I'll be there for needed venting if it sucked ass. But I really don't require you to check in with me every 8 hours and assure me you aren't there for a sordid affair.
I didn't inherit the shopping gene. You're welcome.
I'm sooooo not a fashion diva and I can think of no worse torture or greater waste of my time than to spend the day shopping. With the rare exception of shopping for something big and specific, like a trip to Home Depot for a home improvement project. I *heart* tools.
I didn't inherit the hours-spent-primping gene. You're welcome.
I will not get up at 4am and fill the bedroom with the roar of the hair dryer and competing-with-oxygen cosmetics and styling products. Nor will I refuse to let you touch me at night until I've spent an hour disassembling it all. I bathe, I run a brush through my wet hair, I put on clean clothes, and I'm pretty much good to go.
I bring no girly hobbies to the table.
Our lives will not be overrun with my hummel dolls or Hello Kitty collection. I will not require you to go to a chick flick with me, but I might invite you to come with me to the midnight showing of "The Avengers." Camping, hiking, motorcycles. I assume you're down with those things?
Sports is the exception. I find watching most sports boring as hell. But I like going to an occasional baseball game.
Please, please, please; do NOT buy me flowers!
"Surprise! I fixed the running lights on your motorhome and made you salmon for dinner!" says I love you far, FAR better than "Surprise! I blew a hundred bucks on something that does nothing more than look pretty and will be dead in a week!" Same goes for expensive jewelry. The $30 tribal-design necklace from the nature museum looks way cooler than the $900 diamond necklace from the mall. And you can spend the other $870 on something more useful, like a big screen TV with surround sound, which has way better odds than any frilly diamond of getting me over to your place for animal sex on the couch.
I don't expect lavish vacations either. Though if you're filthy rich, I probably won't complain. Even so, a surprise weekend getaway at a fancy day spa; meh. Surprise weekend getaway to DragonCon; you've won my heart.
Finally, while looks aren't everything...
Sorry guys, I'm no Hollywood Hottie. But I'm not hard to look at either. The love handles are at a manageable size. But the tradeoff for inheriting mother's birthin' hips is that I also got the gene that will always make me look a decade younger than I am. I take great issue with our youth-obsessed culture, but the other end of the extreme is people who take little or no care of themselves and look 60 by the time they're 40. The shallow tabloid girl in me absolutely loves it when an actress shows up on screen who is my age and looks older than I do. Considering they get paid obscene amounts of money to look younger, I get a little snobbish-happy knowing I did it basically for free by not smoking, not drugging, taking reasonable care of myself and a little help from genetics.
Ok folks, your turn! Tell us why we should be falling head over heels for you!