I am very, very good at being single.

23 days out of the month I’d rather curl up in bed and watch reruns of Doctor Who or brutalize my body in a high intensity ballet class than go out after work and socialize. With actual people.

The other seven days are reserved for when I’m ovulating and fertile.

It isn’t that I have no opportunity to be….not single. I’ve been in an average number of committed relationships for a single woman my age. I’m not Ke$ha, but I’m not a nun, either.

(Aside: Do we still remember Ke$ha? Are we allowed to forget her, yet?)

But when the relationships end for whatever reason — be it distance or getting caught regifting electronics at Christmas that were stolen from my little brother — I’m heartbroken for a little while, and then I’m basically okay. With one or two exceptions.

But aside from my personality flaws quirks and my heart’s inability to find a happy middle ground between throes-of-romantic-passion and I-have-the-emotional-capacity-of-a-stone, there is one very big reason why I am more often than not single or unattached, despite being clearly not horrible looking.

Media.

Yes. Media.

Criminal Minds and basically everything on Nancy Grace and Investigation Discovery daily make me vow to declare my little corner of the human gene pool closed for swimming, due to heinous serial killer sharks spotted on the horizon thirsting for petite Southern naïveté. Occasionally my resolve falters, when I remember particularly sweet gestures from beaus of old, observe the truly admirable couples in my life, or want to cook for someone so I can make chicken tikka masala and not have to do dishes afterwards.

But then….oh, but then….I come across a gem like this, brought to us all by AOL.

I may be single on a side of the country I’ve never lived in before, with days spent covered in adorable baby drool and toddler poop, but by remaining single I am decreasing the odds that I will date someone crazy enough to squat in my attic and watch me through air vents.

(Also, with the passing of the Big Gulp law, he’d have to reevaluate his, uh, elimination plan in NYC).

And this, friends, is why I am single.