We are amidst the holiday trio of flub-ups—dinner table clap-backs, mistletoe fails, and gloriously slipping, not sipping, on champagne.

For some reason, winter months are for the romantics.

On Thanksgiving, you bring your boyfriend home to meet the family. On Christmas Eve, you make your boo dip you in an uncomfortable mid-tango pose in the middle of a Christmas tree farm for the Instagram cam'. Right before the dawn of the new year, you look forward to a precious peck or passionate suction (that is realistically slobbery, depending on how many bottles of bubbly you cleared) to be brought to your lips from his.

Turns out, winter months are also for the single Pringles.

On Thanksgiving, we take pride in filling our dinner plate with servings for two. On Christmas Eve, we don't risk hurting our backs for a 'gram worthy picture to post with #AllIWantForChristmasIsYou in the caption. Right when the second hand on the clock strikes 12 on New Year's Day, the only action our lips get are tingles from sparkling wine in a cup, rimmed with edible glitter.

When you read the headline, you probably thought: Oh. Another one of those articles written by some bitter twenty-something who spent the last several New Year's Eve parties pacing back and forth underneath a mistletoe hoping to actually be kissed.

Well, you know what? You've read down to this line, so you can either continue on and roll your eyes, or laugh and relate to me.

I am a single Pringle. I just got unnecessarily personal with you, but yes, I mean Pringle like the oily potato chip. I not only have my own hands to hold during freezing walks through the snow, but I have oily skin. I've been in longer relationships with my matte foundation than with any man I've dated.

With T.M.I. being said:

I am a single and oily Pringle that will outshine the disco ball at your party.

Come December 31, 2017, at 11:58 p.m., those illustrious specs of light spinning around the dancefloor will likely be from my cosmetic highlight, not the ball.

Here are more personal, but still relevant, details to this article about my life—having grown up in rainy Washington state, I am not so fond of anything that falls from the sky—rainfall, snowfall or any other variation.

But, New Year's Eve is my absolute favorite holiday because it's the one day (more so evening) when I actually don't mind what's falling from the sky—glitter, confetti, champagne droplets, you name it.

My fellow single Pringles, you know the drill at Kiss-O-Clock. It's okay to be kissed, and it's okay to kiss. Just don't be too embarrassing and slip on a puddle of sparkling who-knows-what-that-was like I did.