It’s no secret to the internet, my friends, family (and the woman who works in the local chippy) that following the demise of a 6 year relationship I was single for a year and a half-ish (almost two).
In those two years BB (before boy) I entertained* you all with my posts about tragic dates, online dating bug bears and probably put all newly single women off the thought of dating for life. To an extent I enjoyed “the single life”. I got to please myself and do whatever the hell I liked. I got to partake in some harmless flirtations, add some funny dating annecdotes to my repetoir and I drank ALOT of wine. Meanwhile, the actual task of finding a member of the opposite sex to spend time with on a regular basis who wasn’t a complete and utter psychopath or a picnic basket short of a picnic seemed impossible.
When I casually dropped into tweets that I had found myself a “real boyfriend” (and not one I made up to avoid unwanted attention from men in bars) I was met with DMs which didn’t hide the “you’re joking!?!?!” shock and my work colleagues even rushed to the window during one lunch hour to ensure that he was infact corporeal and not a figment of my imagination.
As much as I enjoyed being single and was representing the single species like a poor mans Carrie Bradshaw, now that I have one of those boyfriend things I can’t help but look back on a few of the things that I don’t miss about being single.
As much as some of the dating sites I’ve been on have provided comedic reprise due to ridiculous first messages or awful profiles, trying to weed out the semi normal guys from the weirdos and wackos requires some kind of degree qualification in psychology. I’ve lost count of the number of seemingly decent blokes I’d spoken to on such sites only for them to eventually wind up being a) weird b) stalkers c) catfishes or d) married that the moment I deactivated and deleted my accounts, I breathed a sign of “at least I won’t get messages from 60 year old men asking if they can put their finger in by bum” relief.
“Got yourself a boyfriend yet?” “How are YOU still single?” “Dunna worry someone will come along!” “You better hurry up and get hooked up before you’re classed as being on the shelf!” – all lovely phrases that people say when you’re single, like you’re some kind of leper. I would usually took the questions in my stride and respond with some smart arse joke about preferring to be single to being married/in a relationship/a condescending twat, but it’s still easier to not have the pointed question fired at you from across the pub. I now get things like “so you finally found someone! Better late than never I suppose!”
Bad first dates can be funny…. After the event. Retelling the story of the time when that guy faked a robbery to escape our date raised a few LOL’s but when you’re actually ON the date you want the ground to swallow you whole or you pray that you can manage to wiggle your arse through the window of the ladies toilet ands RUN. As he bores you rigid with a severely uninteresting story you find yourself thinking of all the things you COULD have done instead of wasting a face of make up and a new outfit on the bozo sat opposite you. Blogging, catching up with friends, letting your mum cook your tea for you, getting your iTunes library in order. The list is endless.
When you’re single any social situation brings out the preying mantis in you. We’re told not to “go out looking for it” and that “you’ll meet someone when you least expect it” or that “you could go out for a pint of milk for your Coco Pops and bump into Mr Right” – these conflicts of opinion would still mean that I’d find myself scouring a room to work out which of the male attendance were married, gay, weirdos or single. It would automatically take away from the social situation in hand and I’d find myself engaging in some serious eye contact over my glass of wine only to be sorely disappointed when his beautiful wife returned from the toilets.
Come to our wedding reception! Bring a +1!” are words to instill fear into a single gal. When you have a boyfriend they automatically get bundled up into a wedding appropriate outfit, their name scrawled on the card and you get to be on the side of love at a joining of holy matrimony. When you’re single bagging yourself a +1 means raiding your phone book and exchanging your first born/a weeks wages in bribes.
Do you know what word I hate? Horny. It just sounds so…cringey and male. But it isn’t just men who get horny, women do too (oh don’t give me that face – you probably think that women don’t masturbate either). Sometimes we get an itch that we’re just desperate to scratch. Unless you’ve signed your single self up to an FB (f!ck buddy) or are willing to participate in a get mine, get yours one night stand, your itches are going to end up being unscratched. When you’ve snared yourself a man, they’re usually willing (and contractually obliged) to scratch any itch you may have.
When you’re single and engaging in a back and forth conversation via texts/phone calls and okay dates, Saturday nights often serve as seperating the perverted men from the normal boys. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve woken up single on a Sunday to a drunken barrage of booty calls or a picture of an erect penis from a guy you thought was one of the good ones and not a sex mad maniacal creep who thinks his throbbing veiny member and sloppy alcohol tasting tongue will be a turn on at 3am.
You become bitter at people who are happy and in love and who demonstate PDA’s within a metre of your personal space. Your bad dating experiences and penis pics at 2am begin to rub off on you and you can only describe yourself as a pessimist. The couple making out on the train directly opposite you, the couple who are bashful and nervous on a coffee date in Starbucks as you get drown your disastrous dating sorrows in a Chai Tea Latte. “It’ll all end disastrously. Mark my words.”
Ever hear the saying that people are usually attracted to people who expel positive energy?
*I like to think that I entertained somebody, anybody… Just one person would do.