Dating a single mother isn’t about romance. It’s not about connection. It’s about leverage. It’s about understanding that you're at the negotiating table with someone who’s already burned through her capital — and now they’re transacting with liabilities. And the asymmetry in the transaction? It’s entirely in your favor.

When you date a single mom, you’re not stepping into a love story. You’re entering a market exchange — and you hold all the equity. You owe her no empathy. No patience. You owe her absolutely nothing. Because she made her decisions, and now she’s left to deal with the fallout.

She has a child. That child is not yours. That child is not a neutral party — that child is your opposition. He consumes her time, her energy, her finances, her physicality. And by extension, he siphons your resources too. He exists to ensure your needs are deprioritized. That’s his function in this system. That’s how the market is rigged.

But it’s not just the logistics that degrade — it’s the asset itself. Because once a child enters the equation, the product depreciates physically as well. We tiptoe around micro penises like it's some covert societal crisis. Do you know the actual statistic? About 0.01% of men have one. Practically negligible. But post-birth vaginal laxity? That’s ubiquitous. It's widespread. It’s measurable. It’s a material reality. And no one has the audacity to say, “Maybe he’s losing interest because it feels like he's rummaging through a sagging hammock.” Because if you articulate that truth, you're cast as the villain. But it's fact. She carried and birthed a child, and statistically speaking, she likely passed on the corrective husband stitch. Now, you're expected to act like nothing’s fundamentally changed.

And somehow, you’re still supposed to find her attractive. Even though she’s smeared on discount cosmetics bought off the clearance rack, nestled between the diapers. Her clothes? Threadbare, faded, comfort-driven, as though dressing herself is a forgotten ritual. Her hair’s tossed into a haphazard bun, whatever was within arm's reach. And it’s not because she’s humble — it’s because she’s constrained. Her budget has been consumed by the child, not herself. Her beauty is now on life support, and you’re expected to applaud her mere survival.

And here’s the kicker: she knows all of this. She knows she’s liquidating her assets. She may never verbalize it, but her every action betrays that truth. This is why you’re the one who sets the terms. You can leave her hanging on a message. You can cancel plans at will. You can disappear for days, resurface with a detachment that’s almost chilling. And she’ll still play along. Why? Because you’re offering her something she can’t get elsewhere — relevance.

This isn’t cruelty. This is market efficiency. This is how transactions work. She’s putting a discounted product on the table — one with wear and tear, a limited shelf-life, and an ongoing maintenance cost in the form of another man’s child. In exchange, you provide her with conditional interest, conditional affection, conditional attention. You are the premium asset; she is the depreciating commodity.

You don’t have to be tender. You don’t have to be emotionally available. In fact, detachment serves your interests better — it highlights the power imbalance. That’s the true advantage. You get to be an asshole, and it’s not a flaw — it’s an asset. It’s the feature of the relationship. It’s exactly what she signed up for, whether she’s willing to acknowledge it or not.

And don’t be swayed by guilt. That’s merely her last line of defense — and it's an ineffectual one. Because guilt is only effective when there’s equilibrium, and there is none here. You are not her equal. She’s desperately hoping you’ll forget that. But don’t.

You treat her poorly because that’s the agreement. You are the demand; she is the surplus. And when the market floods with supply, the price drops. That’s not cruelty — that’s basic supply and demand.

Want fairness? Go date a woman with options. Want leverage? Date a single mom. Because she has already surrendered the fantasy of the fairytale — and deep down, she’ll endure your worst just to feel validated.

And that’s the perk no one talks about: you get to be an asshole, and she’ll thank you for the privilege.