Sorry to the rather lovely Fishy (see comment on previous post) but Schmindie boy Columbus can ‘Kiss My Chuddies’. Yes I’m new to the dating game but no that doesn’t mean you can play me for a fool. As the delectable Marmaloid says, ‘fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me’. Well Columbus you’ve fooled me approximately one and a half times so let’s call it quits, pretend it never happened and move on safe in the knowledge that we’ve discovered some good new films, had some giggles and drunk a shed load of red wine. In the words of the indefatigable Crusher ‘the butterflies are DEAD’. Columbus, as far as I’m concerned you can hop back on the Pinta, the Niña or even the Santa friggin’ Maria and go and discover some other mug’s unchartered territories. I know it’s probably a coincidence but I can’t help but think your decision that it ‘wasn’t anything’ between us was as a result of having seen me in the nuddy so it’s like I said ‘I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly’…. and as we all know, post op, jelly is an accurate description of my wobbly bits.
Anyhoo, moving swiftly on to pastures new – focusing all my attention on getting my noggin round the idea of going on a grown up date with a grown up Scoobs (overlooking the fact he is two years younger than me). Am I putting down the idea of old fashioned romance because I’m scared and think I’m not worth it? Oh, you think so too? Crap. Busted.
I might be 28, staring down the barrel of being 30 and single with a spinster cat army but in reality I still see myself as a giant kid. The idea of being wined and dined seems so grown up and we all know that being grown up is something I’m really not ready for yet. This might sound totally crackers (by now you expect nothing less from me) but to date an eligible gentleman would make me feel like I was living up to my potential in at least one area of my life and we can’t have that now can we. Is it time for me to realise that I don’t a) have to be or b) want to be someone who lets herself fail at life anymore? God what a scary thought. But but but that would involve sorting things out and getting organised and *aghast face* being responsible. Is the idea of a handsome eligible bachelor on my arm worth the hassle of growing up? I’ll tell you on Tuesday morning I suppose!