Match mayhem

Ook! Not sure I like this being in demand malarky, it’s ever such hard work. Don’t get me wrong, I have not become such a gigantic diva that I feel that this is all beneath me, nor am I exactly drowning under a deluge of eligible bachelors but I am still finding the whole process a little bit like pulling teeth. It is nice having men expressing an interest but I am finding my evenings rather swallowed up having to compose witty charming funny emails that don’t make me come across like a complete psycho hose beast prone to hormonal ranting. And my poor poor email inbox is lit up like a christmas tree as to keep my slightly OCD nature in check and to stop myself spinning off into oblivion about getting it all in a muddle I’ve had to employ an intricate colour coding system to get ahead.

I feel like I’m constantly trying to sell myself, and I don’t mean that in a “thigh high boots, red latex, no kissing on the mouth” way more in a “yes I’m a big girl* but I do have a personality and a brain and am actually quite nice” style. And it’s tiring. I have three men on the go at the moment (again not in a sexual fashion!) and to remember who has said what and when I have had to assign nicknames and compartmentalise them accordingly:

“Mr Tree Hugger” seems like a really nice guy but rather disturbingly reminds me of the Physics geek in a lot lot lot of ways (they even share the same name) which feels a little bit like incest and therefore I have an overwhelming urge to gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon before considering having a date with him. He also sends me pictures of baby animals which, whilst making me squeal with delight at something so ikkle also makes me fear that if we were ever in a bedroom situation he’d pull a baby stoat from under the bed and suggest a menage a trois (or should that be menagerie a trois!)

“Mr Possibly French” is well as the name suggests, possibly French. He’s also overly keen which is reminiscent of a puppy wanting to play fetch or a child wanting praise for pooping in their potty. He sends me adoring emails and ends them with things like “If there is anything I can ever do for you at any time let me know ;-)” and “enjoy your good times coming up, I will be thinking of you” which makes me wonder if I am going to look out of my window one night and see him stood in the bushes bashing one out or if he is going to befriend one of the geeks I live with and then stab me in my sleep so no one else can have me.

“Mr Jeremy Piss Ant” is a heavy metaller who looks like he would smack you into next week if you messed with him but has a profile that drones on about being sensitive and misunderstood. I suspect his inner desire is to wear leather trousers and a lace up shirt and have long flowing hair like Meatloaf whilst writing torturous poetry about bleeding hearts and open roads. However in the spirit of being “open to opportunities” (again, not sexual!) we’re currently involved in email shenanigans.

The thing I don’t like is how to give potential suitors the brush off – do I front it out and say “Look, you remind me of my housemate and if I slept with you we’d have a three footed child with the mental capacity of a mango”? Or should I take the cowards way out and just start ignoring them? Answers on a postcard please!

* Do I qualify as a big girl now? Contrary to what some people may think I don’t mean big girl as in “I can’t walk into pubs on my own/wear my hair in pigtails and talk in a twee voice” way but really, at what size does it become acceptable to just BE?

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