One of the most annoying things that people ask you when you’re single is “how are you single?” It’s a double edged sword. On one hand it’s a compliment, as though the person cannot fathom HOW you’ve become available on the market because you’re so goddess like. On the other, it’s as though they’re searching for some underlying weirdness about you which may explain this freak occurrence of nature. “HOW are you single? Do you have 6 toes? Scales all over your body? Some bizarre fetish?” Truth is that no matter how amazing and goddess like you are, even Beyonce was a single lady at some point and David Beckham a single male, so weirder things have happened.
I got this a lot when I was single and I was always left questioning whether I should feel complimented by the question or insulted.
“You must have guys lining up wanting to go out with you!” people would follow up that question with, and as much as there wasn’t a physical line of men forming outside of my house admittedly there was no shortage of male attention for my affections. When I say “affections” what I really mean is “my vagina”.
Hi, my name is Charl and I have a vagina.
The truth of the matter is that when I found myself single YES, I found I had a barrage of men wanting to skip the small talk and mundane task of getting to know me to jump straight into bed before we even had a first date. There would be no talk of a drink or a disgustingly awkward meal or even a disastrous date at the cinema, instead I would receive messages at 2am on a Saturday filled with slurred spelling and lack of grammar suggesting I should “jump in a taxi” or asking about my current sleeping state. I’d lose count of the number of unsolicited penis pictures I received from guys I had bumped into in the pub and exchanged numbers with in good faith and it came to Internet dating it seemed it was more the norm to see each others genitals before you saw one another’s face or spoke on the phone.
I would often be lambasted for my disposable attitude towards the different men I would be speaking to at any given moment, be they from Internet dating or a friend or a friend. Their names would change quicker than the average human would change their underwear and when asked why I would show them an array of messages from seemingly normal guys who would then turn into a user of seedy sex chat service within minutes.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m well aware that dating in the real world isn’t what it’s made out to be in the movies or some upper class well to do family where the surnames come with two barrels and I’m also not turning my nose up at a one night stand, but when I found myself suddenly single again I was surprised at how dramatically dating had changed since I had last been on the market.
After 6 years of being in a serious relationship I wondered whether this was dating these days? Was I finding it so difficult getting anywhere with men in terms of a relationship because I was holding out for something a little more substantial than a drunken fumble or over to theirs for a quickie and a phone call that never comes? In 6 years had the human race skipped all the niceties and dare I say it, romance (?!) and given into animal urges?
There were a handful of guys I met on dating sites who were just my type, we hd the same sense of humours, we clicked. One guy I spent almost a week messaging non stop about life, writing, common interests and to top it all off he lived no more than a stones throw away from me. Ideal one would assume? Not so much.
When I broached the topic of a date I was met with a “whoa whoa whoa hold your horses cowgirl”, but in the same breath it was made clear that I was invited round his at any time for some “no strings fun”. I found it became increasingly desperate difficult to maintain a backbone and solid ground of “if you can’t take the time to date me, then you don’t get none of this jelly” because a: women have sexual needs too and sometimes a tumble in the sack with a hairy chested guy is much preferable to a tumble in the sack with a pack of chocolate covered hob nobs and b) because I thought this had become the dating norm. Was I thereafter “the freak woman” for expecting any different? It seemed so.
As much as the vagina is a wondrous self cleaning and self lubricating gem and I’m fairly proud of mine (aren’t we all, ladies?) I’m so much more than a hole goal for a guy to brag about to his friends or to chalk up his conquests on a tally chart to justify his masculinity. In short, I am more than my vagina.
Have fun and get yours, but do not be afraid to be the “frigid girl” who says who waits it out for someone who is interested in you for than what’s between your legs… they’ll come (pardon the pun).