Well, that's the lot. All of my high school friends are now married or engaged. All of them. I am the sole survivor of this matrimonial scourge. Hell, some of them have been divorced and remarried.

Things like this make me think about my grumpy singlehood even more obsessively than usual.

I attended the engagement party of my final compatriot a few nights ago. I'm happy for him; his fiance is wonderful, and his poor mother can finally hope with expectation that she'll see a grandchild. He's the first of her children to tie the knot, and it's getting late in life for us to start thinking about families.

I have discussions (well, arguments) about that last with friends of mine. They keep insisting that I'd be a great father, and that I'm wrong to consider my potential parenthood past. I don't know. First of all, I tell them (with some small edge) one of the prerequisites for having a kid is another human being to help you. Preferably one you like and would wish them to stick around for the raising and nest-kicking parts of the process. Sure, I could adopt, but really - why do that? If (as I'm sure) my singlehood is linked tightly to my being unhappy and not aware of how to be happy (nor thinking I should be happy) then how could I in good conscience subject a child to that sort of attitude in their only parent?

Hell no.

I suppose if I met someone, as one of my cousins likes to remind me, I have nothing to fear - Strom Thurmond managed the feat of fatherhood at a ripe old age, for sure. But again, how is that fair to the kid? Having to watch his or her dad kick off this mortal coil midway through elementary school, by all statistics; and even if I survived longer, I'd be unable to play with my son or daughter, roughhouse with them, or in fact be anything except a distant and fragile person.

Christ, I depress even myself sometimes.

So, of course, I have cats.

And I go to my friends' weddings, and I'm cheerful and happy for them in all honesty.

It's the evenings after that just suck rocks.

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