I’m on sabbatical

from men:

Sab·bat·i·cal [suhbat-i-kuh]


1. of or pertaining or appropriate to the sabbath.
2. ( lowercase ) of or pertaining to a sabbatical year.
*3. ( lowercase ) bringing a period of rest.
4. ( lowercase ) sabbatical year.
*5. ( lowercase ) any extended period of leave from one’s customary work, especially for rest, to acquire new skills  training.
A self-imposed man ban if you will, a mannesty. In the manner of an American school’s weapons amnesty, but instead of dumping Chinese death stars and machetes, imagine I walk up to the man-detector gates, and start patting myself down and emptying all my pockets, pulling men out of every nook and cranny and dumping them in the bin, under the approving ( and somewhat proud ) gaze of the hombre police. I’m fasting, detoxing, I am the zen yogi of dating, and no men / dates, is the magic green juice cleansing my emotional colon. I hope this is more effective than the green juice I brought back from London in January, which only succeeded in making me gag.After my delightful weekend in Paris back in February, I made a conscious decisión to quite simply, knock it on the head for a while; boredom had well and truly set in. You men talk a lot. *sighs exhaustedly. Paris served to illustrate that, even if something is casual, it doesn’t have to be brutal, crude and cold.It was a real eye-opener, and so upon my return I decided to go cold turkey, and not put up with below average behaviour, anything. And besides, I’ve got bigger fish to fry, like trying to finally be a grown-up. At 40-eerrhermm, it’s probably about time. …. pensions, mortgages, the future, etc. etc.

It should be noted that, I have always been a big believer of being completely on your own, at some point in your life, for a substantial amount of time. And NO, that doesn’t mean just over the weekend, after being dumped on Friday. But then I would say that, I’ve spent the best part of my life after twenty eight, single.

Apart from the two years with the Mexican and six months with Temper Tantrum Twinkle Toes last year, ( oh! And the boy who went AWOL ), there have been a few weeks, a couple of months, a day or two, here and there.

And so, we reach the beginning of June and I feel lighter, ( stands side-on, holds out giant man-free pants to illustrate success ), calmer and generally, just in bloody love with life.

Stress. Free. And; there is something devilishly satisfying about watching a man’s face crumple in confusión, when you knock him back for no better reason than, ” I can’t be bothered.”

Attractive enough man (M): Hi, I haven’t seen you here before.
Annie P (AP):  Well, I come here often.
M: Really?
AP: Yes. *smiles sweetly
M:  *shuffles feet, Can I buy you a drink
AP:  Thank you, that would be nice.
M/AP:  small talk, chit chat, some bullsh*t, small talk, chatter, yada, yada.
*20 minutes later
M:  Can I maybe take you out?
AP:  Umm, no thank you.
M:  Oh.  You are married?
AP: No.
M: You have a boyfriend?
AP: No
M :(*thinks “she must be a lesbian“)
AP: (*thinks “and no, I am not a lesbian“)
M: Are you very busy?
AP:  Not especially.
M: *face starts to collapse, cogs crank into action, (does not compute), a little amount of steam can be seen rising from the engine overheating.
AP: *Little internal chuckle to self.
M: Um, OK.
AP: Enjoy your evening. *smiles sweetly.
M: left standing looking confounded.


It’s been a great few months.  Just about me, my friends, family and work.  I realised I was starting to bore myself with my endless stories of random, crazy, crap men/dating.  And if I’m boring me, I sure as Hell am boring everyone else in the whole wide world.

So, we are happy, content, calm and peaceful…….. then BAM!  A mega-crush, on a scale not witnessed since your final year in secondary school, on the Rugby team captain, comes out of the blue and completely blindsides you.

On a wholly inappropriate person.

Holy CR*P Batman.


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