Stop the bus

DON’T worry if you find it hard to keep up with my various conquests and exploits from week to week — you’re amongst friends.
A colleague of mine despairs at the running commentary I give her on those who catch my eye. Don’t be fooled when I say ‘a’ colleague — I mean she’s the one who gets it the most, and not the only one who can’t keep up. I find it hard to keep up myself.
To elaborate, I refer now to the genius that is Wendy Cope, who penned the immortal lines: “Bloody men are like bloody buses — you wait for about a year and as soons as one approaches you, two or three others appear.”
So bloody true.
Standing at my own metaphorical bus stop I’m amazed at how many ‘vehicles’ of all shapes and sizes have turned out in the past wee while. Maybe my pheromones are now finally working? Maybe someone has actually been reading my column? Or maybe I’m just the best of a bad bunch — I don’t know!
I’d forgotten what it felt like to be chatted up until it happened recently. I burst out laughing — right in his face — which wasn’t ideal. His intentions were sincere, but however flattering it just felt and sounded so cheesy.
Up there on the pedestal with my self-help guru Carrie Bradshaw is Bridget Jones, who unwittingly put the idea into the heads of thousands of singletons everywhere that becoming an ‘aloof, unavailable ice queen’ was the way to go — after all it netted her the highly unsuitable but devilishly brilliant Daniel Cleaver (read Hugh Grant, because let’s face it after watching the film, the boundaries between screen and reality get a tad fuzzy.)
There are only three slight problems I have found with this approach.
To begin with, when using predictive texting, if you type in the work ‘aloof’ it appears as alone. Coincidence? I think not.
Secondly, if you act unavailable, what chance do you actually have of becoming unavailable?
And don’t even get me started on the trials and tribulations of being an ice-queen — I melt too easily when I come in contact with a hot flame.
I was quite flattered recently to be told I was a good kisser. I was glowing from for the compliment until I realise the sad irony was I’ve just had too much practice, kissing all the frogs who have never turned into princes. Talk about needle in a haystack!
Wouldn’t it be great of you could pick certain attributes from each suitor to make the ‘perfect’ man? Even then I don’t think I’d be happy. When presented with the supposedly ‘perfect’ man recently I felt uneasy.
Due to my own insecurities I’m not happy unless there is a flaw and this fine young specimen had none apparent, Great, you may say, but if there’s no flaw on the surface, rest assured a major one will rear its pretty head soon.
It got me to thinking what my ‘perfect’ would be, using the materials available.
I’d take the body and charm that makes me go weak at the knees of the one who can’t attach, won’t attach, might attach, won’t attach; added to the comic genius of the Double Dutch rugby player’s innocent ability to translate a coherent sentence. This has resulted in him coming out with sweet statements, for example ‘loveliness (that word doesn’t exist I think? But it sounds nice) and ‘Soso I’m not dead yet, and that you might notice when you feel a kiss’.
I would take the comfortableness (that word doesn’t exist I think? But it sounds nice) of my favourite ex; being already aware of his blemishes and not having to do the ‘getting to know you’ bit and the constant but not overpowering attention. He’s also very good at the whole ‘being a boyfriend’ thing — sending me little presents when I’m sick; knowing when I’m down by my tone and best of all having the fantastic ability to solve everything with a hug.
Mr Perfect would be topped off with the closeness (meaning distance and friendship) and commitment of my boy-space-friend. I would also choose his mum for my perfect mother-in-law as she is as lovely.
But alas, this isn’t a perfect world and we are forced to choose only one (at a time), and live with the good and bad points. Of course, no one is forcing me to choose any of those I have mentioned.
The danger lies in the fact I’m hooked on each and every one of their individual charms and flaws, and I don’t want to let go. There, I’ve said it. And that’s my flaw.
Since writing this I have performed one of my most bravest acts in order to improve my availability — I have detached myself from the charmer who ‘can’t attach’ — I feel this will improve relations and free attention to focus on more suitable specimens.
The whole grass is greener attitude keeps creeping into my psyche. My greatest fear is finding someone with whom to ‘see how it goes’ but all the time wondering how it would have been if I’d ‘seen how it went’ with someone else.
Knowing my luck, they’ll all pass me by and I’ll be standing waiting for another year again. Something tells me I’ll always end up not quite the one who got away but the one who never got there in the first place.
A final word from Double Dutch. Being a keen sportsman, he asked what games I played, after providing his sickening list from rugby to kickboxing, with EVERYTHING in between.
I joked that the only sport I partake in (and badly) is playing ‘the field’ but I think that too got a bit lost in translation, especially when he asked me if you needed balls for that. I think it does.