Comedic monologue for women (can tweak for any gender). The actor is giving a speech to a room full of people, as if doing a standup gig
I am 28 and single. I have been single for 23 years now.
In case you're wondering, yes, you did the maths right! My last boyfriend, and, coincidentally, my first one, I had at age 5. Pre-school. His name was Freddie, he was blond and fairly tall for his age, and he would often eat his own bogeys. ...yeah. I know. Gross. But hey, nobody's perfect, right? At least he was tall and blond.
But as I was saying, it’s been…quite a long time! Not that I never had the chance to- like- you know…I’m not that bad, it’s just-
Honestly I don’t know why. Maybe I am that bad. Maybe I am some sort of mystical creature that repels human beings of the opposite sex unless they’re creepy or not my type at all. Some sort of modern Medusa who makes guys crap their pants and run instead of turning them into stone.
I don't know.
Anyway, growing up in a constant state of single-itude- wait, does that word even exist? Well it does now. As I was saying, growing up in a constant state of single-itude is a quite peculiar experience.
There are relatives asking if you’ve finally found the special one at every family dinner. And I mean literally every single one. Your mum telling you that if you’re a lesbian it would be ok and NO MUM FOR THE HUNDREDTH I AM NOT LESBIAN! Not that it would be a problem, mind you. I respect all kinds of love. And there are your girlfriends all squealing and chatting about their experiences and you’re there like “ahah…yeah…totally get it! Ha. Boys!” while actually you have absolutely no clue what the hell they’re talking about. Then you grow up and go to the gynaecologist and every time she sees you she gives you that look and asks “So…did you meet someone since the last time I saw you?” and NO I HAVE NOT OK SO STICK THAT THING WHERE YOU ALWAYS DO AND SHUT UP.
But then one day there’s this one guy, this one miraculous guy you like who seems interested and you start going out and you fall for him and there is finally a tiny spark of hope and you’re so happy and you tell him you love him and he says he only sees you as a friend. And you die a bit inside. You die a lot inside.
Yes, I’m talking about you, you cold-hearted bastard. You know who you are.
And so you hop back on the train to Spinsterland, and time is passing and you start to feel like one of those Austenian heroines. You know, those that had people worriedly looking at them and whispering “oh, that poor girl…she is 19 and not married. How will she live?”.
Well, let me tell you, I am doing just fine! Absolutely fine! I’ve got lots of time for myself, for my cat, my job, my family, my friends…I’m doing great!
Who cares if I have never kissed anyone? Who cares if I have never had someone cuddle me at night watching a movie? Who cares if no one has ever looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing in the world? And who cares if I have never known what it feels like to be loved?
WHO THE FUCK CARES! Right?!
[long beat]
…I do. I care.
-C