The friendship abortion

Aren't pregnant women into themselves? Completely besotted. Nearly every interaction with a pregnant woman involves the obligation to ask how they're feeling and they always ALWAYS continue the conversation with some extra information. One of the most sickening sights for me is watching a woman slowly rubbing her own pregnant abdomen in public. I'm not really sure why it bothers me so much but I always think she might as well be massaging her own breasts. There's always a very satisfied look on her face as she massages her bump. Look how fertile and content I am people. And I'm definitely going to be a great mum, look how caring I am towards fetus even before it comes out. Wait till it starts screaming I always think to myself. That'll wipe the smirk off your face. Now can I just clarify that a woman is within her rights to be into her own pregnancy. It's a fucking horrible experience. We deserve the right to complain about what happens to our bodies duri

When sexless = single

Finished off 2017 with a date with...another David. Shout out to the bores who became parents of boys in the 60's. David was a single man on a married website. I suspected he wasn't really single when he told me that he was semi-retired but unable to meet until after 8pm any night of the week. First warning sign. Didn't ignore it. Acknowledged it and changed the first date to a night that suited me. Not mid-week. These days I refuse to fit into anyone's schedule other than my own. Limits the men available but generally sifts out the David. Met David. Instead of waiting on the steps of the library, he was waiting on the footpath in front of the steps. He was hunched over scanning the crowd, obviously nervous, umbrella in his hand. Very sensible. Groaned. Introduced myself. He explained his status a few minutes after we met. "My wife had a stroke 3 years ago and she is in a nursing home. I've just come from there actually. I go and see her

Suicide Man

Single man David was ugly with a well-written profile. I'm very happy with ugly as long as the man is interesting. He had dot pointed his most attractive qualities and in amongst all the stuff he thought was great about himself he had written "I've saved someone's life." I pictured CPR at the shopping centre or pulling a kid out of a pool and giving mouth to mouth. I sent off the kiss. We got to the texting stage. I give my phone number quickly to get off the email, and once I'm at the text stage I want them to be short and sweet. Minimum number of texts before meeting. When and where is all I need to know. Safer that way. Less risk in having to answer the inevitable question - how many children. How about we meet before you ask about my offspring mate?  "Five" is a real turn off for most of them. Except the men who come from large families themselves. The freudian love they feel for their mummy normally makes me ok in those men's eyes for o

An overgrown thatch and a smelly snatch

Writing about disastrous dates, miserable men and disappointing relationships can get depressing. It's not all bad. I do have a few good memories. Simon was the second man I dated after becoming single again. Milk Man was before him. Probably best not to go into any detail about Milk Man. That one needs a blog entry of his own. Back to Simon. Being new to the dating world was a weird experience initially. I was strangely popular in those early days. After launching my dating profile I received contact from a different man about every 10 minutes for hours. I don't mean to blow my own trumpet, but by the end of my first day I was number 3 in the top 100 women in my age group. I was rather chuffed about that. I guess it was the combination of a rare and flukishly good photo of me taken that day, coupled with the fact that I was fresh meat in the post-marriage online dating world. A world which few leave once they join. Years later and many failed romances and re-launches of

Dave - March 2017

In my last blog I mentioned one particular man with a missing tooth . Check out the PS section at the end of that blog entry. That's Dave. Not David. Just Dave. Second most boring date I've ever been on. A close second to the infamous I've-had-a-fucking-Brad-day Brad. That's another story. I mentioned in my last entry that Dave sent me a text before we met to explain that he'd just been to the dentist and his mouth was vewy vewy sore. He'd need to recoup before he could contact me again and he told me not to expect a text message from him that week. I guessed that he'd just had a tooth pulled. Silent gag. My brother has recently introduced me to the idea that I'm in what he refers to as 'the transition phase'. He sees this as a very healthy and sensible process I'm doomed to go through where I finally warm to the idea that I am in fact better off never dating again. When the pain outweighs the gain and all hope is lost.