Genuine Happiness: It's socially unacceptable

I don't know why I sometimes have this need to prove to people that I'm happy. You ever find yourself feeling bad because someone else thinks that you should? Like people taking pity on you because in their mind your circumstances make them feel uncomfortable, wouldn't suit them, or are just socially viewed as indesirable? For instance, staying in on a Friday night. After working all week I can find a myriad of wonderful, creative, relaxing, happy things to do that don't require strobe lights, drunks, and thumping, wall reverberating music. Yet for some odd reason staying in comfortably at home on this particular night is socially unacceptable, lol. I love my house! I often say this as if I'm trying to convince myself but really I am trying to convince others and I don't know why. I've decorated so that my home is comfortable for me and I've done it so well that I often never want to leave. My son, young and full of curiosity and energry, hates this. He'd rather be outside 75% of the time exploring the world. But me, at 34 the only thing I'm curious about outside my door is really how comfortable my yard is to sit in. (That's on my long list of things to do, actually. Fixing up the yard) I mean, I'd love to travel and I do it as much as my money and time will allow me to but I always can't wait to get home. My feelings go like this: I came, I saw, it was wonderful! Now lets go home.
Other than the Friday night thing, people for some reason find it hard to believe that anyone (let alone a WOMAN *gasp!) can be happy being single. So much so that they've sometimes been able to convince me that I should also feel bad about it, lol. Like, woe is me, I can roll around my queen-sized bed without having to make room for anyone else :( I can read until 2am with the light on, or watch Saturday Night Live and Cheaters without someone bugging me to turn the TV off so that they can sleep. I can go days with stubble on my legs and not notice because no one is around to remind me. I can decide not to cook, go out to eat, or deliver in without consulting another person, not fight over the bathroom or my hair shedding all over it. I can wake up at 8, scatter magazines all over the bed and floor and do "research". There's no one to check in with so I seize the day and night as I please. There's also no one to worry or wonder about (I tend to labor over wondering what my lovers are doing until the devil drives me mad), or anyone to clean up after. How sad...
Nope. Nothing. Don't feel it. I've tried and as soon as I'm reminded of the aforementioned and my past relationships, I'm well aware of my contentment :) During my experiments of the last year, I've concluded that dating is overrated. I've yet to meet someone I find terribly fascinating, which is what I desire and in my current comfort zone - this house and my luxurious "me" time, I'm not at all pressed to find them. I figure one day in my peaceful oblivion I will happily stumble upon someone I like and after a whirlwind of intrigue and sex and excitement has worn thin I'll remember what I'm missing - my peaceful, free-spirited, detached existence where I get to roll around and be rude and rank with no one but myself to offend. No need to purge, merge, or compromise. But maybe next time I won't miss being single. Maybe I'll actually like my mate and won't mind him sticking around. However, you can't miss what you don't have.
Anyway, at this time in my life I can unequivocally say that I am happy. "But what about more kids and dying alone!" my silly friend might say. To which I will respond "I'll worry about the future when it gets here." In the meantime, I'm carrying on with my life as it is. Happily.