Most days I am happily single. Today is not one of those days.

I went to an engagement party this weekend with EM and EM's boyfriend. It was EM's best friend from high school, so I've known her by proxy practically just as long, and she's getting married to her girlfriend this summer and moving to a random southern state to go live as happily ever after as you can in a random southern state. I congratulated EM's friend and her fiancee, who were both so obviously happy, shoveled some heavily frosted cake in my face and washed it all down with Guinness. EM, EM's boyfriend and I then piled back in the car and sat through northbound traffic heading home to LA, all while my hormones tap danced around my lady-parts, making me feel very melancholy.

Sometimes, when you're single and crazy like me, happy couples nauseate and irritate you, despite how fabulous you are (and I am) for no reason other than that they're privy to some echelon of happiness not quite achievable for single people. It's worse when not-single people want to put an end to your singleness because they feel it's their responsibility, as evidenced by an encounter MEH described to me with his friends this weekend.

"I hate it. Even the etymology of it - 'the fix-up' - like we're broken!" I said indignantly to MEH.

"I know!" He indignantly agreed with me. Indignantly.

"I'm not broken," I repeated to My Friend With Great Hair after explaining the story to her, too.

"You're not broken," she agreed.

Then another engaged coworker came into my office, grinning from ear to ear and I irrationally wanted to punch him for no reason other than that he was happy.

Maybe I am broken.