So our—well, not 'our,' but you know, 'everyone's'—Julia Allison has finally found a name for her Time Out New York dating column! No, it's not "Dumb Slut Adventures" or whatever your suggestion was. It's The Single File. What an ugly word that is, "single." What is it, exactly, that makes the word itself, and its connotations, so inadvertent-shudder-inducing? Maybe it's less about actually being single and more about the telltale signs of being uncoupled, hmm? You know ... singlefiers.

Examples of singlefiers have been popping into my head with alarming regularity lately, possibly because I'm about to live alone for the first time. And, to be honest, I really want it to be completely unlike every other New York bachelorette pad, which are so often completely alike. Not that there aren't various grossnesses endemic to apartments inhabited by couples! (Seriously, people, that bedside trash can? Empty it oftener, or throw the condoms out elsewhere.) But here's the stuff I'm worried will happen in my new place:

  • Piles of magazines everywhere, comprised of tons of pretentious ones that are clearly untouched and then severely thumbed-through Vogues and Luckys
  • Overflowing shoe rack and nothing in the fridge
  • Scented candles
  • Slovenly heaps of little-used makeups in the bathroom
  • Stuffed animals in the bed
  • Cat hair on the furniture
  • Cat smell
  • Cabinets full of mugs featuring the likeness of lady who looks like those hypertrophically-limbed Daily Candy illustrations, bearing the legend "I Love Shopping" or whatnot
  • Anything pink
  • Ornamental pillows
  • Unedited bookshelves, esp. if they include He's Just Not That Into You or anything along those lines
  • Nair
  • Lite cottage cheese in the fridge
  • Anything lite or diet around. Cases of Diet Coke. Weight Watchers 'Just 2 Points' bars
  • Inspirational or thinspirational things on the fridge
  • Framed posters
  • Handbag tree

I could go on. Or maybe you could?