I’m only thirty four (yes, only) and I have been told that I look at least five, if not ten, years
younger than my age. So why then, did a carpet salesman, who I would guess at
being in his mid-fifties, think it was ok to ask me out while I was pondering
the differences between “twist” and “berber”? Listen, I realise I am no spring
chicken, and I have made my peace with the fact that I may never get to throw
an amazing fortieth birthday party for the love of my life. But honestly, this
guy was a good twenty years older than me, and this is what made me feel a bit
icky and sleazed over. I understand that being slightly sleazy and overly
flirtatious is an occupational hazard as a salesman (I speak from experience
having been in sales myself), but it is far more easy and pleasurable to take
from a twenty two year old. Coming from someone twenty years older wearing a Dad jumper for crying out loud (it was a
nice Dad jumper, so nice in fact that I thought of asking him where he got it
so I could buy it as a Christmas gift for
my dad), it suddenly made my cool single life seem a little sad and
depressing. Is this really what my life has come to?
Don’t get me wrong, this carpet guy was a perfectly nice
chap, and I’m sure he’d make a great boyfriend, for my mum or one of her
friends. But it was me he asked for coffee, then for lunch, then coffee again. I
have a feeling I may have visibly recoiled with horror when he first suggested
it, before recovering with a cheery giggle and a “ah thanks but no. So does
this one come with free underlay?” but by the third ask I was getting less
convinced that he was joking and/or trying to make a sale and more frustrated
at not being able to use the “I’m spoken for” technique without being a big,
fat liar. But fending off unwanted attention from men twice my age is actually only
one of the reasons that I think it might be time to end my three and a half month
long man ban.
I am incredibly comfortable on my own. Maybe a little too comfortable if I’m honest. I have
lost all interest in keeping my body hair free, in fact I am actually using the
cold weather as an excuse when my waxing lady asks me to remove my tights when
I go in for a wax. “Those aren’t tights,” I say “they are my natural defences
against the elements. So I am going to be cold after this, I hope you’re happy.”
I have just painted my room a gorgeous shade of pink, it’s
like sleeping in a massive ballet slipper. It’s a proper girls room. And one of
the excuses against getting a new man is the whole décor thing. I go to
Homebase on a Sunday and see couples bickering in the paint aisle, while I
sweep past and breezily pick up a pot of matt Pink Bunting, inwardly smug that
I don’t have to deal with those trips anymore. I can go to Ikea and know that
no longer does it mean massive rows, I can merrily pick up as many yellow bags
and fill them with odd shaped kitchen implements that I will never use and
thousands of tea lights, safe in the knowledge that it’s up to me and only me
that decides what goes in my house.
But staying single just so I can have a pink bedroom is
really missing the point of finding a soul mate. And the real clincher, the
thing that made me decide that the man ban absolutely must end, was that the other day I seriously considered getting a
dog. Not that much of a shocker on the surface, but I am not a dog person, at
all. I get fed up with having to feed my cats, let alone taking a dog for a
walk and spending half an hour each morning on a dog egg hunt in the garden. I
have sort of the opposite feeling for dogs as I do for kids. Other peoples dogs
are fine, and I enjoy spending time with them, but as for one of my own? No
way. However, I had this thought that maybe a dog might be nice company for me
in the evenings after the kids go to bed. And that is what did it.
So I am finally at the point where I’d be meeting someone
new not because I don’t like being alone, and not because I need someone. Which makes me think I
must be ready. But, given how busy I am, and knowing that the whole hands
touching over the last pain de campagne in Waitrose is a complete fantasy
dreamed up by myself in a time when I was less cynical of the mid-thirties
dating scene, it does, unfortunately, mean going back to online dating. Which fills
me with horror having learnt from experience that there are an awful lot of
yucky men on there just out for a bit of excitement. So I set up a new profile
(this one without any pictures) totally designed to stamp out any unwanted
attention from marrieds, lying fuckwits or oddballs. My user name is of the
Star Wars persuasion (obviously) and of course the first message I got was from
a guy offering to show me his light sabre. Great. The internet is not immune to
sleazebags. On the plus side, I am feeling optimistic, light sabre man may well have been a one off,
as I have had a couple of nice messages from some really normal seeming guys, who have
not mentioned their light sabres once, and there is not a Dad jumper in sight in any of their photos. Watch this space…
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