Saturday 5 March 2011

To date, or not to date.....that is a very good question

Being single is a real eye-opener. I mean it. It's like watching traffic crawling past you on a jammed up motorway. You notice the little things that you wouldn't normally notice had you been flying along the M1 at 80 mph, lost in fogged up thoughts of tedium and nothing-ness. I feel the same about watching people from the water's edge, swimming about in their cosy little Worlds of love and lust, the 'completeness' they emanate from every pore of their bodies......and the false hope that their heightened state of euphoric togetherness will last until daisies are growing on their shared grave. I've a simple one-word answer to that.......bollocks.

Call me a cynic. I've been called far worse over the years, even a 'pessimist'! Me! Of all people! How very dare they. I'm just well observed and a frequent flier on the 'wit' passenger jet. But having experienced the single life for the past 2 years or so (apart from a couple of very short attempts at pre-marital bliss) I have come to embrace the solitude that is a result of spending endless evenings doing what I want, when I want and having complete jurisdiction over the remote control which is usually hitting the 'off' button. This hasn't always been the case. It took years and years of self reflection and hardening up to get to this point and with hindsight (oh how I love the 'H' word!) I have now come to the conclusion that my twenties were completely wasted on unsuitable men, spending night after night worrying about whether or not it would last, is so and so from his office better looking than me, where is he, why hasn't he rung, is he texting/emailing/phoning other women, are other women texting/emailing/phoning him, is he cheating, does he still fancy me, will he still like me if I accidentally drop one in front of him, how am I going to stay at his house for the weekend and have a dump without putting him off (and I know all you women reading this will be nodding your heads in recognition of that particular dilemma), does his Mother like me, etc.....etc. Seriously, I could have been doing something far more rewarding and worthwhile, like realising that it was all in vain and I could quite easily live my life without a man messing with my melon!

I will cast my mind back to when I was 21, and the last and only time I lived with a man (in the biblical sense). I hasten to add that I packed my bags and moved out again 6 months later. I didn't enjoy it. It wasn't entirely his fault, but I remember distinctly the first night I called his house my home, the overwhelming feeling that I really didn't want him to be the last and only person I slept with for the rest of my life. I knew from that moment on that I was in trouble. I found that domestic goddessing came naturally to me, too naturally, in fact, and as a result of my O.C.D I spent a large part of that 6 months forgetting I was still just a mere mortal and throwing myself into the daily chores with a scary amount of gusto and Mr Muscle. It frightened the living shit out of me and after engineering several fruitless arguments, some physically violent involving launching a heavy book at his head, I made a hasty retreat back to the Olds. That was it. I was scarred and desperately in need of constant drug induced clubbing to to try and erase the memory of marigolds, scrubbing brushes and clothes pegs.

The remainder of my twenties involved a marriage proposal which I sensibly knocked back, a few flings that I ended sharply due to some pathetic reason that they weren't the full ticket, a disastrous one-sided relationship that resulted in an affair with a man 8 years my junior which subsequently led to a 2 year relationship that ended as messily as it began. I repeated the same dating patterns over and over again and yet failed to learn my lesson. But sensible men just didn't do anything for me and so after years and years of pain, torment and frustration I was relieved when I turned 30 and met who I thought was the man I would marry and bear lots of little mini us's to. But sadly, and as the old saying (and as my personal favourite) goes, there was no polishing of turds to be had and the relationship ended 2 years later leaving a trail of dung behind it. I will never forget the feeling of complete devastation I experienced following that unfortunate event and vowed never to repeat it. They weren't quite famous or, indeed, my last words but of course I did repeat it once more and at that point the door had slammed on ever letting anyone in again.



But these days I can sniff out a player from twenty feet away. I know his moves, oh yes Sir. There are a few actions that set off the twat radar and from that moment on, the specimen in question should be either avoided at all costs should you be of a delicate disposition or looking for a Father to your future children, or enjoyed to the max if you are like me and you don't give a rat's arse about getting hooked up. For starters, if he keeps his phone locked he's clearly hiding something. Ok we all know that one but even if he doesn't there are the oddities that make him stick out as a filth bag, such as keeping his phone face down while you are there, putting it on flight mode or never actually taking it out of his pocket while you are around. Player will do a lot of 'sport' or watch a lot of football or even go away for 'lads' weekends and will make you feel incredibly guilty should you display any signs of suspicion or dismay at him leaving you alone for any length of time. I never trust a man who texts a lot either. I've adopted the belief that if he can't call you then he clearly can't talk for some reason, probably because he's cowering in a toilet somewhere whilst trying to juggle his many love interests!NEVER DATE A TEXTER! If he can't make the effort for facetime chat then he's clearly only after your downstairs jewels. But Player has a sixth sense and knows when he's been rumbled which both intrigues him but forces him to keep his distance. But he'll still try and fiddle with your mind waves so beware!

Thing is.........as much as I enjoy my own company, I often try and imagine myself slotting into the World of couply bliss with a like-minded, humorous and witty companion who 'gets' me and doesn't just consider me a cool hearted single mother, grateful for a sloppy poke from any old Tom because honestly, this is the type of feckless bum hole that I strive to avoid. I would rather watch Top Gear repeats and read old copies of Heat magazine than share my space with a freeloading twunt who thinks that' pressing the right buttons' means he can work the washing machine. But then I take a big wide lensed gander around me at the dramas and female psycho behaviour permeating my usually calm atmosphere and think, "Damn........I kinda miss the drama a bit...." and start to wonder what it would feel like to have those dreaded butterfly varmints messing up my insides again. Only this time 'cool' is key.

Ah, maybe I'm kidding myself. Maybe I'm just taking a cockbandit holiday and soon enough I will be joining the long list of heartbroken females crying into their suave on a Friday night because he 'hasn't called or text in 3 hours'. Who knows. One thing I do know for sure........whatever happens, however loved up I may become in the future or let someone get closer to the juice that makes me tick.....I will never, ever throw away my beloved sheep collection. Nuff said.