As a single woman, I've found married women to be the best of friends and, unfortunately, the worst of friends. At best, these women open their hearts and homes, and together we laugh and cry about the craziness of life on both sides of the altar. At worst, their erroneous assumptions and comments about singleness leave me blue and belittled.

If you're a married woman, read on for an insider's peek into the ways you can endear yourself to the single women in your life.

We'd love your help from time to time. Picture life without a hubby to kill spiders in your home, shovel snow from your driveway, haggle with the mechanic, file your tax return, or heft heavy boxes to your basement. Now you have a good idea of some of the challenges we singles face regularly. Of course, I'm not naďve enough to think all husbands are this helpful all the time. But surely your guy offers at least some of these benefits we singles miss out on—benefits some of my much-loved married friends have shared with me over the years.

For example, I'll never forget the time I moved into a new apartment. The fact that two female friends from my aerobics class showed up to help was great. That they brought their husbands was a godsend! With the men's capable help, my meager post-college possessions got moved in a snap. Likewise, my friend Michelle "lent" me her husband, Tim, a self-professed computer geek, one Saturday afternoon to help me shop for my laptop computer. If I'd gone by myself on that shopping trip, I'd still be in some aisle in Best Buy comparing RAM, gigabytes, and a whole bunch of other stuff that's Greek to me.

Another great help is passing along household goods you no longer need. That's how I got my "new" microwave (my friend Ingrid realized her new home had one built in, and she no longer needed hers) and my fancy casserole dish and carrier (my sister received several as wedding gifts). Unless and until I get to register, these kind acts provide household items often nicer than I can afford.

Don't ask, don't tell. I have yet to find a witty response to the common small-talk question, "So, are you married?" After I reply, "No," there's usually an awkward silence that I feel compelled to fill with an inane comment such as, "But I'm not against it or anything." I wish strangers would take a few seconds to glance at the empty ring finger on my left hand and save me the conversational agony! The similar question, "So, are you seeing anyone?" yields similar results. If the answer's no, you've dead-ended the conversation again. If it's yes, we singles usually bring it up before you can ask.

Another vexing question is, "So, why aren't you married yet?" As if there were a specific answer to that, such as "Well, I guess I'm just not pretty enough." As with so many things in life, there are no easy answers—other than we just haven't met God's best for us yet.

And in light of the fact there are no easy answers, it's best to keep advice for "landing a man" to yourself. One poor work contact of mine was told by a married friend—in front of mutual friends, no less—she would be married by now if she were a more self-confident, godly woman. "That was a punch in the stomach," she says. "Old self-doubts about being single crept back into my mind. Worse yet, I began to doubt my worth as a Christian. I went back to my empty, lonely apartment and cried myself to sleep."

Sure, there's a time to offer advice—when we ask for it. And we will, because we value your experience and insight.

You can play cupid—only with permission. Last summer my sister and brother-in-law asked if they could set me up with one of my brother-in-law's coworkers. At first I was terrified. But when they explained this guy was a pastor's son who shared my love of travel, I warmed to the idea. The clincher was that this was a well-thought-out match. In contrast, if the only thing you know about a potential blind date for your single friend is that he's a bachelor, a believer, and breathing, you might want to reconsider.

Asking permission to play cupid is key. I have several single friends vehemently opposed to being set up on a date because they've been burned too many times—such as my big-city friend who got "matched" to a small-town burger joint manager in another state. The only things they had in common were faith and a love of french fries! No more blind dates for her.

Personally, I'm flattered when a friend wants to set me up with someone she knows and respects. Great men don't grow on trees, so meeting someone outside my usual path is helpful.

Our life isn't like a television sitcom. There are many days I want to be single…in a TV show. The single women on Friends hang out with a close-knit "family" of friends, go on dates every weekend, and have enough money to wear the latest fashions and live in well-furnished apartments. I never see them schlep their clothes to the laundromat, brave winter weather to fill a prescription when they're sick, or watch dateless years go by. This is the single life my friends and I know. Sure, we enjoy guilt-free Girls' Nights Out and can freely watch videos without purple dinosaurs or singing vegetables. But there definitely are days we'd trade in these perks for a man's heart to call our own.

Hearing you envy our Girls' Nights Out when that's all we've had for the past 18 months is difficult. Just as hearing us envy the romance of marriage would probably make you laugh. Bottom line: The grass is always greener on the other side of the altar.

We're not necessarily miserable. My single friend Julie told me she gets frustrated when married women assume her life is miserable. This never-married 37 year old has a great teaching job and owns her own home, in which she regularly hosts her diverse circle of friends and family. "My mom's great," she says. "When people mention my singleness and start to offer pity, she defends me. She knows I'm happy and will marry if and when the right person shows up."

More often than not, the thing that's made me swing from single and swell to single in you-know-where are comments from well-meaning people who assume singleness is an awful lot in life. Sure, there are days when singleness feels like a wool sweater on a sweltering afternoon—unwanted, unnecessary, uncomfortable. But even on those days, pity doesn't help. Honest friendship, a listening ear, and help celebrating what's great about this stage of life do—all things I'm happy to offer in return.

We want to be included. When Diana, the nursery guru for the toddler class I was substituting in at my church, asked me if I had any kids, I was surprised. She seemed to have all 10 babies in the room on her mental radar screen at once. With such a finely tuned radar, couldn't she see I wasn't wearing a wedding ring? Since this was her first attempt at conversation, I politely explained I'd never been married and have no kids. We exchanged smiles, and she went back to chatting with Susan, the other nursery worker.

About 10 minutes later, Diana tried again. "So are you a college student?" I felt as though she was trying to figure out why I wasn't a wife and mom. I again answered "no," then explained I'd been working at a nearby office for the past several years.

"Well," Diana responded, "Susan and I are both stay-at-home moms, and it's the best job in the whole world." They launched into a conversation about their babies, their husbands, and their labor stories. As I listened, I felt as though they were the insiders and I was the outsider. As usual, I wished the conversation would shift to summer plans, faith, work, or anything else to which I could contribute.

In contrast, whenever Cindy, a married work contact and friend, and I run into each other at our local coffee shop, we chat about everything under the sun. I ask about her husband and two kids, especially her eldest son who's just started driving! And she asks about my pet parakeet, Mr. Right, and my latest travel plans. I love that this married woman acknowledges the things in my life (as opposed to the "missing" ingredients of a spouse and/or kids), and that she values me by asking about these other interests, people, and hobbies.

I also love that her husband invited me to Cindy's surprise 40th birthday party last summer, even though I was the only single person there. Just because I don't have a spouse doesn't necessarily mean I'll feel like a fifth wheel at a mostly married-person gathering. If it would have seemed awkward, I simply would have politely declined the invite. What's nice is that these married friends made sure I was included, and left the decision of comfort level to me. Sure, it's a little trickier to mingle in a crowd that's predominantly paired off, but I appreciate those people who made the effort to include me in conversations, as well as in our fast-and-furious card game, Nertz.

Though the cast of characters in our lives may differ (when I talk about "The Girls," I'm referring to my gang of single girlfriends instead of any daughters), be-neath the surface we're not so different. We single gals just want to be included—in conversation, at social gatherings, in your life. I enjoy how my married friends bring a different perspective to my life; they offer a realistic picture of marriage, humor from their funny stories about their kids, and balance to the people who comprise my community of faith.

If you, too, want variety in your circle of friends, don't forget the single women in your neighborhood, workplace, and church group. Armed with the tips above, you'll enrich each other's lives with your diverse perspectives and experiences for years to come.

Camerin Courtney, author of Table for One (Revell), can be contacted at ccourtney@christianitytoday.com.

Copyright © 2002 by the author or Christianity Today International/Today's Christian Woman magazine.
Click here for reprint information on Today's Christian Woman.
May/June 2002, Vol. 24, No. 3, Page 48