Another day, another dollar.
Or: another year, another day of somewhat forced reflection as to why I’m still single and not being awoken with a big fat portion of Instagrammable love. You know, a kiss and a coffee and a pain au chocolat flown in from Paris all the while looking forward to a day of pre-planned delicious lunches, epic dinners during the opening (and giving) ceremony that features a raft of presents painstakingly chosen during the exceptionally limited time after the Christmas promotion stops and before the Valentines Day arrives. All documented, of course.
I haven’t dated for a whole year (except for two hours last June) and it’s been pretty cool. I haven’t felt under any pressure, I haven’t depilated and I haven’t had to tolerate the usual dating app crap – you know, the inappropriate questions and comments. In fact, as I discovered this week, the rude questions are just as readily available in real life. So, you know, yay! No, no, you can get those in cafes. I was asked by a chap, after chatting for a few minutes, for my number, which led to the first WhatsApp message being incredibly swiftly followed by ‘Oh! By the way, do you like sex?’ So, no need to even open Tinder. I don’t need to subject myself to oily gym-selfie guy or excessively large tool guy again to get that kind of chat. A spanner. The large tool was a spanner……
I knock off at 14:00, will go to the florist and buy me some flowers, pop to the bodega and get me a cheeky liddle red and the butcher for a nice piece of steak. I’m seriously craving decent red meat……. No puns please. Maybe the date is no coincidence. Tonight I’m going to light me a few candles, get my house trousers on and listen to some tunes while throwing together something French. Then bed in for the night and choose a movie (Terminator: Dark Fate if I can find it. Romantic? You betcha).
Sure. Be nice to feel as excited about getting home to my man as I do about getting home to my cat, but that’s the situation as it is. And, at least I’m actually willing to accept a certain amount of disdain from the cat. Thinking about it now, if I approached men the same way, I might get somewhere. Look. They’re usually all fired up and enthusiastic for approximately five minutes, then they don’t answer your calls, they disappear, absorb all your affection and don’t return it and sometimes they puke on the floor in your hall. No, wait……. that’s just Merlin.
Nah! Forget it, I’m trying to convince myself. Coercion is bad, even when it’s auto. Is that a thing? Did I just invent a new term? If I need to persuade myself that much, then maybe I really am OK and only feel socially obligated to think about it at this time of year. And write about it here, because, you know, it makes for a funny story. PANK still single! PANK crazy cat lady now! PANK hasn’t dated since she scared the living bejesus out of the nice illustrator.
So, for those of you who are loved up – well, good for you – for those of you who want to be loved up and aren’t, I see you, I love you, you are worthy of love and for those of you like me, who simply enjoy not shaving your legs, getting into your house trousers at 8pm and stroking your nonchalant pussy, well, you guys are my tribe.
Cheers to you all. Charge and raise your glasses and celebrate love of all kinds on all days. Especially self-love.
Not that kind.
(Well, maybe just a little bit).