The physics geek really does surprise me sometimes, and I don’t just mean in the ‘jumps out of dark corners and attacks me’ way (although he has been known to do that, quite frequently) but in the ‘wow, you do actually have some feelings and sensitivity inside your robotic automaton shell’ way. There we were sat chatting in the living room over a glass of vino, and it came out about my internet dating which made PG scoff as he thinks it is about as real as Jordan’s love for the cross dressing cage fighting twat. PG was keen to suggest that I should ‘get out there’ and meet men wherever I was, in fact he even muttered the words ‘in the supermarket’….. Now perhaps if I was a leisurely grocery shopper who had the luxury of time to loiter tantilizingly in the aisles then I might snare a manshape however my supermarket isn’t the best hotbed of men going, in fact ninety percent of the men in there are pikey or being henpecked to within an inch of their lives by a significant other so planning on meeting Mr Right, or even Mr Right Now in the noodle aisle is a no go. PG continued that I should meet someone in a bar or a club, my turn to scoff and state that I am never going to meet a man in a bar because…. and then I stopped. Could I take the risk and let PG into my innermost mental girl workings of the mind? Emboldened by the cheeky glass of wine whooshing through my veins I took a deep breath and out it came spilling, all the nonsense about how when a manshape approaches me in a bar I automatically start thinking that he is doing it to make me the butt of some pathetic joke with his mates, or he’s trying to win a pull a pig competition and thus my defensive barriers come flying up and I turn into a snarling, spitting she-beast.
Pg’s response? ‘No man is genuine’….. errr yeah thanks mate! He carried on to say that in a situation like that where there is a time crunch and a volume problem, men will say *anything* to come across as being a good guy. He sort of misunderstood what I meant though and so as if that wasn’t enough, I had to dig a bit deeper and explain that the reason that I in particular don’t consider men to be genuine is because I am a fat ugly heifer and how HOW could anyone ever fancy me. At this point I was expecting PG to shut down from a total systems failure at the amount of girlie hormones and emotions flying around but actually he said ‘Al, come off it, there are men out there who find bigger women attractive, it’s not always about the stick thin women’…. I could have kissed him (but not literally). However as easy as it is for me to hear from him that some men are genuine in their approach all my head can say is ‘DOES. NOT. COMPUTE’. I realised that I actually judge men who claim to be attracted to me because, I’m not attractive and I’m a bit mental. I hate being fat and so judge men who could possibly find someone who is fat attractive because it’s simply not attractive. Harsh much?
By this time I think I was a little bit pissed and so had an attack of verbal diarrhoea in epic proportions. Picture the scene, me maxin’ and relaxin’ on the sofa with my wine, PG curled up on the papasan with his wine, all is good in the hood and then,’Did you know I fancied you at one point?’ He gets that rabbit in headlights look, ‘Yup, when I was in Cuba, the ENTIRE time I was in Cuba, I was convinced that I was in love with you and that I wanted to smooch you and cwtch you and get married and adopt a mongolian whistle kid’. He’s paler than I’ve ever seen him, ‘I missed having you around so much, it felt like my arm was missing’. He screwed his face up as if someone had just attached electrodes to his balls before laughing and saying”Let me guess, you realised that we’re just friends and that missing someone is a part of frieeeendship’ and the relief that crossed his face when I snorted and nodded was palpable. Colour flooded back into his cheeks and he laughed his head off. I ‘fessed up that Marmaloid made me realise that I’d know when I saw him whether or not he had the capacity to make my knickers tingle and she was right so, with great hilarity I relayed the bubbling feeling of anticipation that was in my stomach all the way home in the limo and that deflating feeling of ‘oh. it’s PG’ when I eventually got home.
I know I need to work on my self esteem and all that self helpy wanky bollocks but it’s just sooooo haaaaaard. How do you suddenly stop the little oompah loompah’s in your brain from mounting an attack position every time a man comes near? Answers as ever, on a postcard please.