Couple Talk

I’m single. There, I’ve said it, the dreaded S word. The D label fits, but it’s irrelevant.

Not many years ago, in the ’60s, marriage itself was on the brink of obsolescence for some people. Free love, sex, and rock ’n’ roll ruled the day for the young and restless like me. Boys and girls, girls and girls, boys and boys, threesomes and groups cohabitated, guiltless and smug.

Nowadays, it seems that everyone has marriage in mind. There are countless websites devoted to folks eager to find a soul mate, prime-time sitcoms are touting the virtues of married life, and reality hookup shows are super-hits. I find this odd when at least 50 percent of marriages end up in divorce court.

Anyway, “Three’s Company” and “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” are ancient history. Even numbers are in, along with babies, snugglies, and “Modern Family.” Vast numbers of couples are cocooning with their mates of choice, cuddling up, and rooting for a “Bachelor” or “Bachelorette” to pop the question.

For couples, everything’s rosy, comfy cozy. A new dialect has even sprung forth from the mouths of those in bonded bliss. I call it couple-talk. Familiar phrases are uttered, but laden with hidden meanings, or I.O.W.s (“in other words”).

Here are a few examples:

“Can you join us for drinks? Bring so-and-so.” I.O.W.: Solo, you’re a threat.

“Come visit for the weekend.” I.O.W.: With a partner you get the guest room; alone — the sofa.

“Can you be a sixth at dinner?” I.O.W.: We know you’d hate to be a fifth wheel.

“We both [fill in the blank].” I.O.W.: Together we share much more than a name and address.

“Did you hear he’s single?” I.O.W.: Perhaps you two will hit it off.

“Any plans to marry?” I.O.W.: When can we put you on our A-list?

“We’ve heard all about you.” I.O.W.: You’re smart, attractive, witty, so what’s your problem?

“So how was your trip?” I.O.W.: Did you meet a man?

“I know a great guy.” I.O.W.: Please, let me play matchmaker.

“We met through Match.com.” I.O.W.: Try it, you might get lucky.

“She’s single, too.” I.O.W.: Sure glad I’m not her.

“I’ve vetted this guy for you.” I.O.W.: He’s definite partner material.

“My neighbor has a friend.” I.O.W.: It’s time you get serious.

“We’ve heard ballroom dancing is fun.” I.O.W.: You’ve got to keep looking.

“Have you tried a bereavement group?” I.O.W.: We’ve reached the desperation point.

“You’re not getting any younger.” I.O.W.: You need reality therapy.

“My husband . . .” or “My family [fill in the blank].” I.O.W.: Since you’re not part of this homey clan, we’ve got to distance ourselves.

“So how come you’re still single?” I.O.W.: What’s the ghastly skeleton hiding in your closet?

Frankly, all this we-ness nauseates me. Oh, I have nothing against couples. Some of my best friends are still connubial. But I don’t care a bit for couple-talk. Should I tie the knot again someday, I won’t indulge in this lousy lingua.

Yes, I’m single. Did I mention I’m the one you wanted to fix up with your tennis partner’s brother-in-law?

Dianne Moritz’s latest children’s book, “1, 2, 3 . . . by the Sea,” published by Kane Miller, was named a Bank Street Center for Children’s Literature Best Book of 2014. A contributor of “Guestwords” for many years, she lives in North Sea.