By Gina Angostura
Columnist

The other day I was out for a drive to take in the fall foliage. I was by myself, listening to music, driving along the beautiful back roads of New Hampshire, really having a great time alone.

All that ended when I realized I was close to Keene and that it was the day of the big pumpkin festival the city puts on every year. My first mistake was driving into town to see what was going on. The second was actually getting out of my car.

Oh, it’s a great festival, all right – tens of thousands of jack o’ lanterns, all lit up against the evening sky, music, food. But nothing says big, fat loser than going to one of these things by yourself. What was I thinking? I should have just gotten back in the car and driven off a bridge. That would have been a more efficient way to experience pain.

And I must be a masochist, because there I was, walking down the main street of Keene, painfully aware of my single status, standing in line for hot apple cider like some alien from the planet Pathetic. I felt like I had two heads, both with antennae (antennas? antenni?).

Little children screamed. Men recoiled in horror when they saw me. Well, they sometimes do that anyway, but in my exaggerated state of self-consciousness, it was much worse.

NOBODY goes to these things alone. Anyone with any sense at all stays home if they don’t have a companion. But there I was, standing out like a single sore thumb, surrounded by families, groups of women, gaggles of teens, gay couples – any combination you could think of. I was the sole single.

This is how desperate I was: When a young man asked where I’d gotten my French fries, I offered him some. He actually took them, brave boy, but I suspect he saw something in my eyes that said, “Take the fries from the crazy lady so she’ll go away.” He was the only person I talked to all day.

“Single at a festival” is a status lower than “third wheel.” At least if I’d been with another couple, I could have said, “Hey, look at that pumpkin carved like Dick Cheney!” They would have been caught up in each other and would have ignored me, but at least I wouldn’t look as nuts as I did when I said it to nobody.

The thought came to me that it’s probably time to start gathering the shopping cart and 100 cats that I’m going to need in my old age. I think I’m destined to be Old-Lady- Who-Mumbles-to-Herself- While-Walking-Down-the- Street in about 20 years.

I know what you’re thinking: Gina, don’t you have any friends? The answer to that is no, I don’t, not any good ones anyway. And by good ones, I mean ones who will drop what they are doing at a moment’s notice to take an eight-hour drive with me. Granted, I didn’t plan on going to the festival so I didn’t round anyone up, but still.

Since I became uncoupled after the Big D, I’ve become fairly self-sufficient. I can spend lots of time alone, and I’ve come to appreciate being able to do what I want. And I did think of that while I was at the festival. By myself, I was able to turn in any direction and stop to look at anything for any length of time with no one to answer to. I didn’t have to do anything someone else thought was more interesting, or in the case of being with my ex, leave after 15 minutes because it was sooooo booooring.

However, being alone doesn’t really work as well at an event where the main idea is to be with a crowd.

My problem is I don’t have any friends who are just like me – single, able-bodied, no small children at home anymore. They all have soccer games to go to, line-dancing competitions to attend, husbands who demand they do something with them on weekends. Sheesh, unbelievable! Sometimes, I find myself hoping for a breakup so I have someone to do something with.

I know that’s evil, but it’s better than dreaming about 18,000 jack o’ lanterns laughing at me.