Single on Sunday Morning
Sunday mornings are great for getting ahead with—and caught up on—work. I've had a day away from the grind, my mind is fresh, and I can tackle heavy-thinking projects.
Sometimes, though, Sunday morning doldrums weave through the distraction. What is it about Sunday mornings—not Saturday mornings or any other mornings of the week—that are so hard for single people?
I'm not alone in this. A friend and I had coffee a couple weeks ago; she talked about the time between her divorce and her second marrage, and said that Sunday was the hardest day. Another friend and I went for a spa afternoon recently for her birthday; she said she can't be bothered to date and generally likes singlehood, but Sunday mornings give her an ache.
Each of us in these conversations has more than a few friends she could call to join in on breakfast on a Sunday morning. That's not what we want. We want someone to laze around in bed too late with us, someone to putter around the house with us in pajamas over tea or coffee and the paper, someone with whom we can make midmorning pancakes.
This is not a pity party: Just an observation.
Sunday mornings seem to be universally slow and spent with spouses and kids, often in that magical "alone togetherness" that comes with couplehood and family. It's a special space that doesn’t exist anywhere else.
The whole world is doing together time on Sunday. Except us singles. And so it goes.