I don’t want to get married.

I’ve been telling people this since I was about 12, though the thought was in the back of my mind before then.

Whenever I tell people I don’t want to get married, I’m met with one of two responses: They either react as if I’ve just informed them that I have a nuclear bomb in my purse or they laugh and say I’ll change my mind.

Though I could talk about heterosexist institutions and the nuclear family for days, my not wanting to get married isn’t some kind of feminist endgame. For me, my stance on marriage isn’t any different from the fact that I don’t want to get a tattoo or live in Texas or become an investment banker.

Though my mother brings up the ‘m’ word from time to time (those times have come up more frequently since she started watching “Downtown Abbey”), most people who are not the Dowager Countess would probably agree that I’m a bit young for all this wedding talk, so let’s put that issue aside for now and focus on something more relevant: dating.

I’m horrible at dating.

I don’t want to be good at dating. I used to join in with my self-berating single friends and lament over failed attempts at relationships. After all, years of watching too much TV had taught me I’m supposed to long for a life of romance. It took me a while to realize that most of my social ineptitude has a clear cause: I’m bad at dating because I don’t want to date.

Because I’ve never cried during a movie, many of my friends call me a robot. The guy I took to senior prom told me that I’m cold and distant. My go-to piece of advice for any friends who are fighting with their significant other is: “You’re probably better off without him/her.” One time, I attempted to have a heartfelt discussion about relationships with a friend of mine over Facebook chat. I ended up quoting — verbatim — a Joey monologue from season two of “Dawson’s Creek” just for laughs. He never noticed.

Dating is just not something I want, or need, right now. I am content with my single lady status. I’m perplexed by concepts as simple as holding hands and cuddling. Those aren’t things I want, and unfortunately that’s not something people are quick to accept. I’ve had people accuse me of being afraid, damaged, insensitive. Yes, I’m afraid of commitment, but I also don’t want the most commonly accepted incarnations of love and romance.

So back to that whole marriage hoopla. The only thing less appealing to me than marriage is a tattoo. My attitude toward dating is something I see as temporary and mostly circumstantial, but marriage hasn’t ever sounded like something I want.

As it turns out, my unwillingness to settle or compromise is becoming an increasingly popular trend. New York University sociologist Eric Klinenberg conducted a study of adults who choose to stay single and published the book “Going Solo: The Extraordinary Rise and Surprising Appeal of Living Alone.” Spoiler alert: They’re not all selfish, heartless monsters. And I’m not destined to end up a bitter woman with 17 cats or an uptight bitch married to her career (though I fail to see what’s necessarily bad about either scenario).

Maybe this is something I will outgrow. Maybe I will change my mind. In the meantime, I’d like to have just one person respond to my marriage-isn’t-for-me declaration in the same way I react to strangers who hit on me at parties: with complete and utter indifference.