I spent six years writing a weekly budget travel column, and for most of that time, I was single. (Yeah, you try to maintain a relationship when you’re out of town 200 days a year.)
Most friends were sympathetic to my solo plight. But one, a married friend wishing to live vicariously through the life he imagined I led, was not. Whenever I mentioned a woman’s name in an article — a bus-mate or barista or guide or Couchsurfing host or Airbnb neighbor that had given good advice or said something worth quoting — he tried to read between the lines to see if romantic sparks had flown.