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cake?
    Actually, I was almost positive that one of the waiters already had. Like I cared about the Star. The cake, however, had endless possibilities. I would have asked The Star his opinion of the cake, but I knew the L.A. Etiquette for Interacting with Star/‌Celebrity Royalty in Public Places:
    (1) No eye contact and absolutely no gawking.
    (2) No verbal interaction unless The Star/‌Celebrity Royalty first speaks to you.
    (3) If spoken to by the Star/‌Celebrity Royalty the only thing that you may say is: “I love your work.”
    (4) If there should be an Accidental Public Encounter with a Star/‌Celeb and his/‌her Entourage, the non-Royalty must wait to be granted an audience with the Star/‌Celeb before joining the Star/‌Celeb’s Entourage.
    (5) The Star/‌Celebrity Royalty always goes first and has priority in every situation, even if they have arrived three hours after their scheduled reservation/‌appointment—and you were 45 minutes early for yours.
    Josh and I had been sitting there for about 15 minutes. I wasn’t going to give it much effort. I didn’t think that Josh—“the hot item”—was at my level on the L.A. Eco-Chain of Dating. And I had made that mistake before.
    Josh gave me a funny look and almost scowled.
    I had the strange sensation of being viewed as a consolation prize, like Halley had said, “No really, she’s a great girl.”
    Josh wasn’t buying any of it.
    “Tell me, Courtney,” said Josh, “how do you survive in L.A. as a single woman?”
    Rude.
    But intriguing.
    That was the absolutely nastiest thing that you could say to any single woman above the age of 30.
    “Well,” I said, “should I pull my hair back so that you can see my horns?”
    Perhaps I should have employed a more graceful approach.
    But ten years of practicing law had taught me how to verbally smack someone in the face.
    And who was he to say that.
    But more to the point: How did I get here?
    I mean, what frightening vision of a compromised future had conspired to land me on a blind date with an “almost single” guy?
    My girlfriends were once people that I liked. They did interesting things. They were photographing sharks. They were traveling through India. They were opening their one woman shows in New York.
    I’m not exactly sure when they changed. I knew something had changed when I realized my female friends—Stanford, Yale, and Harvard graduates—were taking courses at The Learning Annex on “Finding the Man and Getting To I Do.” And that included the lesbians.
    I realized my friends no longer used the f-word to describe themselves. In fact, it had become a rejected label, almost a point of contempt: Feminist.
    At some point I realized that there was something more than just a change among my friends. It was something close to a cultural phenomenon. And then I recognized it: That Couple Thing.
    That Couple Thing seemed to hit women at age 35 to 90. It had become a mega-industry that made billions in online dating services, self-help books, and seminars. And it had exploded more quickly than reality television, fad diets, and housing foreclosures.
    It wasn’t anything obvious. It was simply a gradual shift in the landscape. Friends discontinued their grand ambition, big multi-year tracks, and bad boyfriends/‌girlfriends. Others quietly joined singles groups like “Athletic Singles." A few began submitting online personal ads.
    Those who would never commit to marriage because “they didn’t need some piece of paper,” (translated: partner wouldn’t commit) settled into permanent, live-in relationships resembling marriage. Suddenly, they began “trying” for pregnancy—not preventing. And some even “tried” without telling their partners.
    Even Stefan, empowered once the
New York Times
started carrying same-sex Marriages/‌Commitment Ceremony Announcements in the Style Section, began angling for an engagement ring from his partner, James. Given that Stefan had once had nothing