I.i. Its Movember and I’m loving it, which is surprising because I’ve always said I disliked facial hair. Turns out I was wrong, I like it a lot. It looks ridiculous and faintly furtive – especially on very young men – which appeals to me strongly. Let’s not explore why, shall we?
I.ii. Which brings me to a related point: apparently, my ‘type’ surprises everybody. We were discussing what kind of men we find attractive, with much squealing hilarity, at brunch on Sunday – trying to guess each other’s type. Mostly, we were pretty accurate. But when I said I liked big blonde men with tattoos and little beards and dredlocks, there was shocked silence followed by complete incredulity. Which leads me to the inescapable conclusion that the way I look is clearly not the female equivalent of that vibe, and I am therefore destined to be celibate for the rest of my unnatural life, since I won’t be attracting Dave Grohl any time soon (and yes, I know he’s not blonde – I make an exception for Mr Grohl). Poo.
I.iii. And this moves us on nicely to another related point, viz. that I wonder why we all repeatedly follow a pattern in our relationships – even though that pattern has spectacularly not worked in any previous cycle. For example, I have never dated/tampered with a big blonde man with tattoos or dredlocks… although I did once date a guy who grew a moustache and goatee for a couple of weeks in order to annoy his mother.
No, as I said, I don’t attract the men I’m attracted to, I only ever attract vanilla conservative types who are looking for someone they think is confident, sociable and strong to look after them. Initially they are delighted by my ‘creative unpredictability’ but soon become disappointed with my occasional ’emotional nonsense’ and downright affronted by my more frequent ‘general nonsense’, then they realise that what I’ve been saying all along – i.e. that I am a mess of a girl – is, in fact, perfectly true, at which point we both run for the hills in opposite directions. And since I have no sense of direction, I never find the hills and am later discovered near a body of water, wandering lost and disoriented and surviving on M&Ms, smiling at imaginary animals, strewing wild flowers and muttering quotes from Withnail & I.
I am the Groucho Marx of relationships; seemingly I wouldn’t want to be with anyone who will have me.
I.iv: I know, I know, this numbering system is becoming unwieldy. What possessed me to go with roman numerals I have no idea. Last one, I promise. Two people in the last week have described me as socially confident and ‘together’ which quite literally staggers me. I honestly have no idea what could possibly give that impression. I’m terrified by all sorts of things and avoid them cravenly; I dislike crowds of people and loud noises, especially when its dark, so I rarely go to pubs and clubs unless its for a friend’s birthday – where I spend the whole 2 hours that I force myself to stay either dancing with my eyes closed in a corner by myself or stuffing my face with cheese twisties so I don’t keep checking the time too blatantly.
I used to work in fundraising, where I had to learn to pretend social ease with a certain amount of aplomb in order to perform my role. But as I’ve said before, it is not really ME.
Which again concerns me – if I’m giving such an erroneous impression of myself in a misguided (but apparently successful) attempt to fit in, perhaps it is no surprise that I’m attracting such wholly unsuitable mates.
3. This morning, as I rummaged in my handbag for my keys, I came across a small lump of scrambled egg. At least, I hope it is scrambled egg. Please do not suggest alternative possibilities…