You never feel more like a New Yorker than when you leave New York. As I hopped onto the flat bed truck to try to convince everyone at the wedding that I wasn’t a drag queen, I realized that my most unusual characteristic wasn’t my size 14 heels. It was my RSVP of 1. The single girl from the city—exotic or tragic, depending on who you asked. I wondered: Was I the last single adult in America? Not only was New York all coupled up, but even the kids I used to babysit for had husbands. They say love is blind. But if love was so easy to find, then maybe I was the blind one. And as I looked around, Love wasn’t some heroic gesture. Love was having someone to point out the stain on your tie before anyone else noticed. Love was someone to steal you from the smoke patio when a slow song came on. It was someone who knew what flavor cupcake you wanted before you even knew there were cupcakes. For now, I’d have to get my own dessert. But even if I was the only one driving down this road alone—I still liked the company. #CarrieDragshaw