Kids, for as long as I can remember, random strangers would walk up to me or sit down next to me and confess their deepest, darkest secrets or their unexpected joy.
In 2019, in the space of a week, three people I didn’t know from a bar of soap , confided in me and it got me wondering: “Was I a priest or a counsellor in my previous life?”
While I listened patiently, I was always silently screaming:
Here are three times people confessed their secrets to me:
The Baby Mama Whispers:
There I was minding my own business in the queue for the Clicks pharmacy when the beautiful, curly-haired woman next to me let out a few audible sighs.
Being quite experienced at this and realising I could no longer turn a deaf ear to the ever-increasing volume of her sighs, I turned to the distressed lady and asked:
“Are you ok?”
Gods, remind me not to do that again…
“Actually, no. I’m just feeling dizzy and here’s why”.
She proceeded to show me her script for folic acid so of course, I got excited because:
Kids, as much as I love babies, this mommy-to-be was WAY too open about how she’d suspected she was pregnant for a while, had her own blood tests done because she didn’t trust her doctor to, was feeling dizzy, wasn’t showing yet at 11 weeks but according to her OBGYN, the fetus was too big for the gestational age and she couldn’t find her boyfriend.
I mean, come on:
The Keyless Runner:
A week after the Baby Mama drama, I was waiting on my Uber to arrive at the Lower Tafelberg Road parking lot when a runner uh, runs, up to me and for several seconds, keeps exclaiming:
“Holy shit, I am one lucky bastard!”
Seeing as he very obviously was not going to go away, despite my very best Meryl Streep impression:
I ventured a cautious: “What happened?”
“Oh My God! I thought I’d lost my car keys and couldn’t find them. Which is horrible because I just ran around the mountain. I was completely freaking out and then ran back to the roadside tap I’d drunk water at three hours ago and my keys were STILL there! Amazing, right?!”, the excited runner exclaimed.
Since I could see he needed the validation, I gave him an enthusiastic “Well done, you!”
The Chatty Uber driver:
I’d had my fair share of run-ins with Uber drivers before. Some of them were actually quite inspiring and others were downright fucking insulting so I was not exactly overthrilled when Sean Paul started our ride with :“I can see with my third eye that you are like a dormant volcano – still on the surface but burning with passion beneath that exterior”.
For the next ten minutes before we collected your Uncle Tendai from his hotel, Sean Paul regaled me with tales of his traumatic childhood, how angry he was as a teenager and adult until he found Rastafarianism; how his third eye had grown due to his beliefs and how he’d recently played the white knight in shining armour for a female passenger when she was in trouble.
As the ride dragged on, I realised that Sean Paul was trying to hit on me . Did priests or counsellors ever encounter this problem, I wondered?
Thanks the gods that the minute your godfather joined us, my chatty would-be suitor and confessor stopped spewing his guts and life could go on.
Fuck it, Capetonians… please get yourselves some paid therapy and leave me alone!
Kids, I was feeling Jet hard… and although I tried to believe Jennifer Paige when she said it was just a little :
… it didn’t help that he was obviously feeling the same way.
I mean the guy was calling me his girlfriend to coworkers; eagerly greeting me morning, noon and night; playing the perfect gentleman and attentive date by pulling out my chair, getting me drinks and engaging me in conversation at work functions; telling people he was bringing me as his date to after hours events; taking every chance he could to hang out at my desk and just generally being all up in my business.
How was I reacting to all of this wanton lusting and office flirtation, you ask?
Oh, Sweet Child of Mine…
Your momma once again invoked the spirit of literary and cinematic singleton Bridget Jones, because really, why even try being cool about a real life flesh and blood man ( and a younger one, at that!) being into me?
One afternoon, Jet was bounding down the staircase, as he was wont to do, off to save some IT crisis or other, and I, as I was wont to do, was watching him … drinking in the sight of him, feasting my eyes and all but drooling.
So much so, that I … spilt my tea all over my desk and my pants.
Kids, in January 2019, I was about 13 months away from having you and I realised that while 2018 had been a year of learning and growing dating-wise, I had no time to f*** around anymore and I had to get serious about finding your Dad.
I knew he wasn’t going to just drop out of the sky like a romantic male Mary Poppins so I was going to have put in some hard work.
Things were progressing quite nicely with Jet , but it wasn’t a sure thing and I had to make some dating resolutions for the New Year:
No more messing around with f*** boys: those late night “I missed you tonight” texts, unexpected phone calls to “catch-up”; the ol’ “my friend can’t make it, will you go with me to xxx” last minute invitations and the “send me photos of what you are up to” requests bullshit would no longer be tolerated in 2019. Either step up , ask me out and tell me how you feel about me or please f*** off from whence you came, Sir!
Out with the apps, in with the IRL dates: Tinder, OkCupid, Datingbuzz and Bumble had given me MORE than my fair share of shitty online dating experiences in 2018 and the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. In 2019, I was going to give my thumbs a break from swiping left or right and let my eyes and charming pick-up lines work their magic… mostly. You guys know how I have no game but a girl had to try.
Live a lot: with just over a year until I would have you, I realised there was a SHIT TON of things I wanted to do , that wouldn’t be as easy with a baby onboard. No offence, my loves. I drew up a list of 100 things I wanted to do before becoming a mom ( which I will share with you soon) and invited friends and family along to help me do them. From day train trips to another town to spending a weekend at a wildlife reserve and having another beach resort holiday to exploring more of Europe, I wanted to do it all. I couldn’t be a great mom and life partner if I wasn’t fulfilled and had lived a lot so it was time to do it.
2019 was the year things changed, Kids… and it really was spectacular!
It had all started innocently enough… Jet would borrow a pen from me, leaning over my shoulder and getting all up into my personal space when there were plenty of pens lying on other desks closer to him.
Hello Captain Obvious:
A month later, after I arrived back from New York,Jet got a little bolder, especially after your Aunt Anthea made enquiries about his socializing preferences, knowing I had a predilection for cute, awkward men.
Suddenly, he was greeting me enthusiastically every day, giving me birthday hugs, telling co-workers that his “girlfriend Fazielah” had invited him to a social night out (I had done no such thing – I could barely get out Good Morning when speaking to him- how the f*** was I issuing invitations, let alone being called his girlfriend?!).
Was I flattered by this unexpected attention? Of course I was.
I decided I couldn’t let the young Jet do all of the work – I was an independent woman of the 21st century, for f***’s sake!
One morning, as Jet zoomed by and up the staircase to his office, I shouted a very loud “HI!” at him.
Smooth, Williams, real smooth.
Jet, confused at first as to whether I was actually yelling at him or just talking to all of the mountain ghosts, stopped and then said “Goeie More!” in reply.
I hadn’t thought about what would happen after that so…
I hid under my desk.
And stayed there for a good 15 minutes until I was sure he was gone.
This, this is why I shouldn’t be allowed out into the dating world. I suck at flirting, goddammit!
Kids, sometimes when my ego was bruised by a date, like when the Boston man child walked out on me, I would seek validation by running into the arms of another unsuitable candidate… such was the case with the Needy Italian.
Mike had literally just walked out of the door when your aunties Cynthia, Gloria and I got down and dirty on the dance floor and three new guys started started dancing with us – a nerdy but seriously cute type and two Italian brothers.
Things were going the way of Dirty Dancing minus the epic lift for me with one of the brothers, Emmanuele, and even though I actually had my eye on an uber cute and buff blonde on the other side of the dancefloor, I was having a good time.
An hour later, I was ready to leave and also feeling quite bold, bolstered by a mixture of f*** Mike attitude and several ciders, so – after punching my number into Emmanuele’s phone, I grabbed him by his big beared face and laid a long but chaste kiss on him:
Fast forward to the next day when I was nursing the mother of all f***ing hangovers and I’d woken up to a barrage of texts:
“Is me, Emmanuele… you see me at Dubliner’s tonight, yes?”
“You wake? I much like to dance with you again”
My outrage at my own idiotic self made me want to respond to my very enthusiastic Romeo with:
Why? Why were millennial men so f***ing needy?!
I didn’t want to hurt his feelings,though, and I was feeling kind of guilty about using him to assuage my feelings of rejection by Mike the night before so I told him that I couldn’t make that night or the night after but perhaps we could try for the weekend.
The following Wednesday:
After ducking and dodging Emmanuele’s pretty intense advances ( with everything from following both your auntie Lee-Anne, who most certainly did NOT appreciate it, and I are on Instagram to liking every single photo I posted and constantly sliding into my WhatsApp with “I want to spend my nights with you” texts), I received the following message from him:
“I get on a plane back home now. I hope to come back next year. We please stay in contact. I will remember you.”
I wished him a good flight and then let him down gently,saying that I am sorry I kissed him when I had no intention of taking things any further and I hope he found a great girl who was more suited to his 29 year-old-self.
If I could have played that old The Manhattans classic for him, I would have:
I also vowed to myself to never use someone to get over someone else again – karma is a bitch and she may well come back to get me at some point.
This, Kids, is what the stupid AF married and religious person from my past who was also a co-worker yelled at me as he walked up the staircase to the next level of my office building.
I was initially too flabbergasted at the utter audacity and nerve of this man, who had not spoken to me in MONTHS, to respond.
Of all of the things he could have asked and chosen to start a conversation with me – how I am, how my family was doing, had I done anything interesting lately or met any celebrities at the Cableway, he f***ing chose to reduce his interest in me to my marital – or lack thereof – status.
I was so many amazing things – a cosplayer;a writer; a world traveller planning her third trip to New York City; an adult working student studying a digital marketing course; an avid movie geek and theatre nerd; a comedy lover;a sister, daughter, grand-daughter, niece, cousin, aunt, godmother and friend who loved her people fiercely and a weirdo with a quirky sense of humour– and yet, this asshole made me feel like none of those things mattered because I wasn’t attached and he was yelling at me about it.
I’d been in a pretty great mood before this f***tard verbally slapped me with his insult.
Considering that less than a year before, he’d been flirting with me – unsuccessfully, I might add, because I am not about that side chick life – I was very tempted to retort with:
” Why?Are you trying to figure out if it’s still ok to make a move on me?”
Alas, I wasn’t that brave yet so all I could be was outraged and the following exchange happened:
Me: “Seriously? Why the hell would you ask me that?!”
Him, clearly not expecting me to burst out in anger like that: “Uhm … because I keep hoping the answer will be different”
Then he made some wise crack about my lobola (dowry) clearly being too expensive for modern men.
This horrible interlude led me to issuing the following PSA to men who have no idea about how to talk to women:
“Dear members of the male species, please listen up! Insulting a woman to get a rise out of her in the hopes of it leading to other things is an archaic f***ing notion that should have died with the dinosaurs. Women, in all of our gorgeous, magical, multifaceted glory should be treated with the utmost respect at all f***ing times. Instead of catcalling, insulting or just being the poorest reflection of your sex in the history of the world, the next time you encounter an intelligent, well-spoken,beautiful woman, try engaging with her on a topic, any f***ing one, that both holds her attention and stimulates a quality exchange of ideas.We’re worth so much more than being your baseline entertainment for a minute, an hour or a day. Sincerely, a woman”
You know, I am sitting here at my desk as I do on a regular basis because, mamacita got a day job and there ain’t no sugar daddy in sight, which got me thinking about a certain someone that made me become more aware of the weird way in which some men operate.
I say some, because contrary to hurt girl beliefs, not all men are bad. There are awesome men out there, good ones, and gentlemen. Yes ladies as hard as it is to find them, there are some men who look out for the person in their lives.
Now that I have gotten that disclaimer out of the way, let’s begin with spilling the tea.
I would like to recite to you the tale of the Lady and the Douchebag, not just any douchebag I tell you, this one dear Sirs and Madams was a doctor. You know how everybody and their auntie wants to get together with a doctor because….bragging rights aaannnnnd free checkups well let me tell you, ye know the saying, “just because you met them at church don’t mean they ain’t a demon”. Well,just because he’s a doctor, doesn’t mean he will save you. Hippocratic Oath be damned …. this man needs to be schooled and not with a PHD.
It started off innocently enough. We met at a party with friends, locked eyes for longer than 5 seconds ,did the whole lingering smile thing before going back to our respective corners to critique and make notes with the guys and gals in our posse (Don’t give me the side eye ladies, you know you do this -men too)
At this point you may be asking why I call him Dr. Douchebag, to which in turn I say, you will understand and agree as you keep reading.I cannot make this shit up. At first you will like him but then you will squint your eyes and think to yourself….is this man an idiot?
Ok,so picture our first meeting; an extravagant birthday bash in a wonderful venue set against a beautiful backdrop of black and gold, swish and full of wonderment.
Beautiful people in beautiful clothes dressed to the nines, amazing music is pumping out from the DJ box, the crowd is alive and having a great time, we’re busting out moves that make Beyoncé shy away to the corner ’cause guuurl, we got this!
I’ve been on my diet and my gym game isstrong so the girl is snatched, yes Gawd! It’s all seemingly perfect right,? RIGHT!?!?!?!?!!?! I was wrong, nothing was perfect. It sunk like the Titanic before it even left the docks and although there was ice involved, there was no iceberg so mofo had me looking like a deer in the headlights, stunned AF.
As you do when you find someone you like and want to attract their attention in your direction you try and flirt. Problem is, I suck at flirting. All day every day I would not get even a D, it would be more like an F for WTF are you doing with your LIFE go buy yourself a clue. I tried and he looked like he was not interested so I chose to continue enjoying the night.
So, Mr. and his posse of 5 strong eligible friends looking like the Backstreet Boys decked out in all black like we’re one minute into the “I’ll never break your heart” video, (I’m a child of the 90’s, sue me) are generally all around me and our one common female friend.
He in particular is always right behind me which at first I could not figure out why because I thought my weak attempt at flirting had crashed and burned…(Chica you’re oblivious you might say while reading this, my response:YES. I was like a blind man in a dark room with no music, absolutely clueless.)
Their presence is so prominent my friends start asking why I brought bodyguards with me like I’m a foreign diplomat trying to suss out national secrets or something and I am oblivious to the fact that he has already laid claim to my person and is now protecting his territory.
Because I was so clueless I tried to move away from him as much as I could to get down and boogie but everywhere I went ,there he was. Eventually I sit down on one of the swish seats made available for our party and one of his friends ,whom I later found out was his brother, was sitting next to me.
We get chatting about frivolous nonsense and after a few moments I feel someone plop down next to me……yes that’s right it’s the doctor he is sitting as close as possible to me which I think is because he doesn’t want me speaking to his friend so I look up and let Mr. know I’m just finding out if his friend is ok. I think at the end of this little conversation he will get up and go, but boy was I wrong.
He stayed, ladies and gents, all freaking night, bought the most expensive bubbly you could at the establishment and always served me and only me and no one else……(Yes, I was that clueless, but he’s a douche so it evens itself out.)
We speak a bit and as I try to keep the conversation going, he gives me one word answers. Just like the men out there, women are not mind readers: if you like us, use the tools you were born with and let us know.
If you’re not good with that, go buy yourself some power tools and get to hammering away. I am not an X-Men character… my name is not Jean Grey and I cannot read your mind.I do not have access to Cerebro. (For reference to this reference, watch anything where Hugh Jackman has his shirt off and has knives coming out of his knuckles even if you hate the movie just fast forward to the parts were Hugh has his shirt off, you will thank me later) if I did we would not have this problem.
If you’re a talker, orate something if you use ASL sign it out, if you’re not good with words send me a text made up of emojis or go all Last of the Mohicans and send me a freaking smoke signals I don’t care, QUIET DOES NOT LET ME KNOW THAT YOU LIKE ME!!!
The following week my good male friend and I(Yes, just a friend I’ve known him since I was a kid there is a friend, no benefits…that’s just ….ew) go to a club where we know the people and our friend worked.
I let her know I’m on my way. As we enter she tells me that the doctor is in and would like my presence at his table that night. I don’t see any harm in being friendly and go over to he and his friends. I’m welcomed and he acts all gentleman like, offering me a seat when his friends are clueless and just let me stand whilst speaking to me.
He goes all out thanking me for helping his brother when something happened on our first meeting, insists that anything and everything I want is on him. Which is nice but I didn’t ask for anything so I still snuck away to buy my own drink because I can. The gesture is nice but I helped because he needed it, not because his brother would buy me drinks. (He seems so nice right now doesn’t he, aaah yes ignorance is bliss.)
As the night progresses he and I get very close, on the dance floor, off the dance floor the whole toot and at one stage we’re holding hands and nuzzling.
My friends told me this afterwards because I was a little… how should I put this…..fragile so some of the details are a bit fuzzy. If only I could insert a laughing cry emoji right now I would. Ok ,people of the palace,this is where things start to get a little douche bag like.
He starts to have a few drinks, I notice the more he drinks the easier it is for him so speak to me but instead of engaging me in friendly conversation I was met with this. ‘” You are such a lady, I can see that you’re not like most money hungry females out there but please understand I will buy you whatever you want I have access to unlimited funds just tell me what you want, anything any time I will buy it for you. You know I just bought a car for a million rand, but there was a problem accessing my cash and my uncle gave me the money, the next day I deposited the entire amount back in his account. You will want for nothing I will always look after you, do you like bikes I have two I’m getting another one soon” .I shit you not, this is verbatim.
This went on for longer than I’d have likes and the more I told him I don’t care about his money the more he kept assuring me that he had Rockefeller money.( Like that’s nice but, who you iiiis though?)
At one point in his very one sided conversation I turned to his friends and asked if they could shut him up about his money as I wished to know about him and not about what I could only imagine was bags of moola just strewn across his house ready to for him to brag about. (He did not notice or listen when I asked him to stop talking about his money, he smiled and continued)
They looked at me fully stunned as if I was the first woman to ask him to shut up about his cash, all the while he kept droning on about how I should call him and no matter what it is I need or want he will get it for me because there is no limit to the amount of money he has access to (Douchy right?)
He keeps on talking about money and repeatedly asks me what I want …I was so irritated I gave him the evil eye and said a house in the Swiss Alps which shut him up because though he has a lot of money he does not have Swiss Alps money. (Rockerfeller ,my ass)
I excuse myself from the situation and head to the dance floor. A few friends are already there and we’re grooving to the music when I feel a tug on my arm before I get pulled away rather roughly from the person I’m dancing with…yes you guessed it, Dr D himself. According to a friend of mine he saw me on the dance floor with a male friend, downed a triple gin while giving the guy I was dancing with a look of pure murder and made a bee line for me and subsequently dragged me away from the offending male…..jealous much?!?! (You’re starting to squint aren’t you…and yes, we’re on our way to creepy town)
His friends form a wall of impenetrable douchebags around us and at this time the only thing running through my head is that scene in Lord of the Rings where Gandalf the Grey screams “YOUSHALL NOT PASS” which nobody did, for the whole night.
I had my very own security service following me around. From bathroom to bar he was there but always playing it off like a gentleman. The rest of the evening is a bit fuzzy, the grape salad I ordered came in a glass or two or three…and it’s rude to send things back to the kitchen so I took one for the team and finished the bottle…(don’t judge, I see you judging)
What I do remember though is that by the end of the night TWO things happened. 1: he asks me to join he and his friends for a show they have tickets to and 2, he drinks so much he starts throwing up in the ice bucket provided for his table and starts to cry….oh and he almost fought with a waitron in his drunken state because they wanted to cash up and asked who would be paying, Mr money bags got incredibly defensive and started raising his voice talking about, “Don’t they think I can pay huh, do they know how much money I have, do they know who I am” Everyone in his party stood up to try and calm him down and he would not until I tugged his arm and he immediately stopped and then pulled out his wallet to give to me.. (Douchebag)
Because the invitation to the show was done in a half inebriated state I thought nothing of it really, but it came through. I received a text a day later asking me if I would join the friends to go to the show which I accepted and asked when I should meet them.
He insisted that he pick me up and take me home, after an exchange of, I can get myself there no sweat, and it seemed rather evident that he REALLY wanted to pick me up so I complied. The allotted time comes and I’m ready and waiting when I hear the rev of a huge car engine outside my house…My first thought, ÿeah he brought the million rand car to show off.
PEOPLE I WAS RIGHT!!, outside my house stood this shiny two door sports car that make most men cream their pants just looking at it. I mean the thought is nice and all but did our previous meeting not get you to understand that money is not how you impress me!!!!
In the car are his best friend and my female friend, I think nothing of it as we trudge along to the show. Ten minutes before we reach our destination he says nonchalantly that he no longer feels like sitting on the chairs thereand would like to rather go and get some coffee.
Also everyone else cancelled, he tells me this after my repeated questions about the rest of the party fall upon deaf ears (My spidey sense is tingling)…
Did i just get duped in to a double date, nooo I couldn’t have, like this doesn’t happen in real life right, this is some Hollywood Punk’d isht isn’t ? Sadly not. He duped me in to a double date. (Deer meet headlights)
Naturally we went to some lavish place for him to show off. It would have been great if only he was able to speak to me instead of sitting tight lipped for most of the time we were there. He stared at me, he shyly smiled at me and spoke to his friend about money, soccer, how he took no nonsense from people who worked under him and my absurd idea about going to a music festival, why I should eat more and get an iphone and use his music service and start doing this and that and so on and so forth and more about the absurdity of my like of music festivals which is stupid.
That my taste in music should be changed and I should listen more to what he listens to, all the while not really speaking to me but about me to the rest of the people there. Flashing his super expensive watch in my direction every few minutes so I would notice and ask or compliment on it and when I did not he shoved the metal timepiece under my nose to show me what the doodads were (Like I give a fuck)…(like seriously who is you?)
This man spent the entire time that I knew him showing off what he had and not once did he try and get to know me on a more personal level. His chivalry confused me, I didn’t know if he was a shy gentleman or just an undecided douche bag. In the end it was decided – OMWM was it decided!
Who tricks a woman in to a date?!?!?! Is this an everyday thing, why can’t you speak to me properly without being tipsy, do I intimidate you or should I be intimidated by you, have I stepped in to the twilight zone? What the actual fuck is going on right now?!?!
I DRESSED UP EXTRA CUTE FOR THIS. I DID MY HAIR FOR THIS DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG MY HAIR IS!!!!!!
Right now as I’m typing this out I’m still confused…..I really think I got Punk’d – maybe Ashton Kutcher lost his way and forgot to tell me it was all a big joke because that is what it feels like….
There is so much more like how his friends aren’t allowed to swear near me or compliment me or sit near me or THERE IS JUST TOO MUCH…….safe to say, boy was a douche bag in doctor’s clothing with a shitty bedside manner and I still can’t believe that I was duped in to a double date(DOES THIS LOOK LIKE HIGH SCHOOL?) …..Oh and also DOUCHE BAG MUCH!!!!!
Kids,every so often online news agencies and magazines picked up on my never-ending hilarious tales to you. In February 2017, your aunt Nadia convinced me to share some of my horror dating stories with her.
Kids, by 2016, I had had it with everyone from my grandmother to the guy at my local Spar poking their noses into my solo status and forcing their unsolicited opinions onto me about why it was that I was still single.
Here are 5 things I wish those people (smug marrieds, otherwise attached and even fellow singles too) would stop saying to singletons:
You’re too picky:
I’m going to let Madea take care of this one for me:
Let us be clear on one thing: I am NOT picky, I am selective – about who I spend time with and who I choose to be with. I am bloody amazing and I need my future partner to be of an equal standing to build a future with.
I will not settle for mediocre, boring AF men who have no ambition and interests, cannot support themselves or nurture and realise a family, just to make you feel better about me being single!
You’re just looking in all of the wrong places:
Oh, so that’s what I’ve been doing wrong all of this time?! Well, would you mind pointing me in the right direction there, Mr or Ms Know-It-All?
Because I am pretty sure I have looked f***ing EVERYWHERE – bars, bookstores, house parties, events, music concerts, meet-ups, blind dates, group hangouts, Tinder, OkCupid, Datingbuzz, speed dates, on international visits etc.
Every goddamn dating advice site or book tells singles to go to events and places that interest us and we’re bound to meet potential mates with similar interests.
Obviously I am the only comic book- reading, cosplaying, horror movie fanatic, musical-adoring, concert-going, pancake-addict, chocolate-devouring bookworm in the entire world or my soul mate lives on another planet.
Stop hating men so much:
Dear uneducated assholes …if you spent more than just five minutes of your sorry excuse of a life scrutinizing my singledom and how that reflects badly on you, you would see that I not only love men – I lust, crave, adore and want them in my life.
My undying, incurable, overwhelming desire to re-meet, mate with and marry this guy:
My frequent Beefcakes ‘visits, Magic Mike nights out and general flirting with everything that moves.
I may not always know when a guy is hitting on me but I sure as hell know how to put the moves on one when I feel like it. Like Christian Grey, my tastes in the opposite sex are very singular:
And for the love of the Seven, stop telling me that I might be a lesbian. I will admit that I tend to fall in love with a person’s heart and soul rather than their gender, but this blog isn’t called How I Met Your Father for nothing.
You’re still young – there is plenty of time to find The One:
I know it’s irrational but I feel as though I don’t have the time or the luxury of waiting for Mr Wonderful to show up – my eggs are expiring at an exponential rate.
Then again, Janet Jackson is having a baby at 50 so …ok, I’ll let this one slide.
Just stop looking and he will turn up:
Let me explain this in terms you’ll understand: you know that one handbag/car/house/clothing item/piece of jewellery etc you simply cannot live without and that you HAVE to find?
Yeah, that’s how we singles feel about our potential significant other.
Telling me to stop looking, wanting, searching for and dreaming about him, whoever he may be, is bloody torture. The more you tell me to quit looking, the more I am going to pretend to do just that but still secretly sign onto useless dating sites ,wonder if that cute guy at the café was just being nice or was really into me or imagine that my best male friend has been in love with me for forever.
Just stop giving me false hope that someday my Prince Charming is going to show up when I least expect it.