When I received invites/ advances/ approaches from several men of all types (tall, blonde, dark and lean; rough and tough and strong and mean) over the Easter break, I figured it was mother nature giving me a sign it was high time to get back into the world of dating. She’s a single woman too, after all, so I figured I could trust her. I had been all set for days of lounging around, eating chocolate, catching up on reality trash, and occasionally venturing out for a meal or coffee with friends and family (I had even invested in such a weekend by purchasing two new pairs of the finest track pants Bonds makes).
But the raining of men, as rain often does, changed those plans, and I made a conscience decision to leave the umbrella at home and let myself get, absolutely soaking wet. And so the storm ensued….
Thursday – I kicked off the weekend and went on a date chap who showed up A – late and B – three sheets to the wind (his words). It actually was a pretty fun evening (truth be told I had downed a few glasses of wine while preparing, too), and the annoyances at the start were more like a minor shower than a full blown downfall. But the rain sure got heavier…
Friday – I went out with a girlfriend to my local, and chatted to a cute bloke who seemed, well, quite charming. In a primary school style move, he got my friend to pass on the message he was interested, which at the time was somewhat endearing. Many drinks had been taken by this stage (someone remind me why we decided tiki style cocktails were perfect for a rainy day at the pub?!?) so I spent some time with him, quite excited at the prospect of a cheeky-tiki pash.
But no pashing was to be had.
Instead, I got a very long, and very sad, life-story, and a complete change from charming to melancholy. I tried to be sympathetic, I really tried, but as the clouds gathered so too did my need to get away from the situation, which I promptly did.
Saturday – I was texting a boy who usually lived close by but who was out woop woop for the weekend at his mates place. He tried the classic arrogant ‘you can’t resist me move’ of telling me, not asking me, I was joining him out at god knows where to ‘make the weekend more fun’. Saturday had been my designated lazy day, it was raining heavily, and I had no idea how to get where he was, so I declined. Then he called me a ‘prick teasing cunt’. True story.
Sunday – I had a thing with a boy a year or so ago who, while cute, had mucked me around. Out of the blue he contacted me, allegedly having been reading up on my blog and reminded how funny, witty and generally amazing I am (OK, I may have elaborated a little bit, but you get the point) which inspired him to contact me. He asked to see me, and persevered through my protestations. I eventually agreed he could take me for dinner on Sunday night (the messages having been exchanged earlier in the week) figuring he could have grown up a bit and, if not, I like dinner.
I was driving home when I missed his call, but called him back upon reaching my destination, some twenty or so minutes later, at about 4pm. Plenty of time to make arrangements. But he did not answer. Nor did he call me back. Instead, he messaged me at about 6pm with this pearler ‘sorry I missed your call. I’m out having dinner with friends. Let me know if you’re around later x’. Um, no, I won’t.
(Also, Andy M, for next time you’re catching up on my blog, yes, that is right, I am awesome. But, no, you should most definitely not contact me. Because you’re a knob).
Monday – so that brings me to today. The clouds have parted, and I have had a man-free day of loveliness, catching up with girlfriends and chilling with my dog. Those newly acquired Bonds track pants have finally got a wear, and this dry spell is officially the highlight of the weekend.
Mother nature, you and I need to have some serious words, girl. I thought we were mates (heck, I even voted for the Greens in the most recent election as a sign of nature-loving-female solidarity). I appreciate the effort, but really feel like this was more ‘acid rain’ than the dancing-around-in-excitement variety, and I kind of would have preferred the later.
God bless you for trying anyway, love. But I think I’ll be staying dry for a while longer.
Naughty Miss Jones xx