You know I said I didn’t need a man. Well I’ve changed my mind.
This morning, on this lovely sunny Sunday, I have been cleaning my blocked drain. It was honking to say the least. I have a very weak stomach as the neighbours found out at 10 o’clock this morning when I was retching rather loudly in the front garden. Despite my protective clothing, eye mask and rubber gloves I was blantanly not rocking it as Superwoman.
Luckily it was not the poo drain just the kitchen one otherwise there would have been more than retching going on. I live in an old house which to be fair is starting to cheese me off a bit now.
I don’t even have central heating as there is no gas supply where we live. Yes really, 2017 and no gas supply has made it to some of the villages in this country yet. My drains are prehistoric to say the least and are a crude concrete design which means that most things stick to it on the way down. The poo one is always getting blocked as you can’t make a very good corner out of concrete and anything remotely larger than wee gets stuck on the sharp edge.
I do draw the line at clearing that one though, which we usually have to do at least once a year.
It is amazing how much they stink, after all the kitchen one is just waste from the washing machine and the sink isn’t it? It was grimy and sludgy and grey and smelly. Urgh!
However, I cleaned it and picked out all the sludge and hosed it down and now it’s as good as new, well for a few months anyway. While I was feeling all manly I thought I would chop some logs for the fire.
I have an open fire and although the ‘wood guy’ does bring me small stuff there are usually odd ones that could do with chopping in half. Yep, I definitely need a man for that. I gave up quite quickly after nearly losing my toes and instead decide to come indoors and build up my biceps first with a couple of baked bean tins. That lasted about one and half minutes.
I have never been a gym bunny and it shows. I have wobbly bits and my arms are about as strong as spaghetti. Is it too late for me to toughen up? I am going to need to think seriously about this as it does not look there will be a man in my life anytime soon and as much as it pains me to admit it, the only thing I am likely to be able to chop is a carrot.
Otherwise it has been a quiet weekend, with just me and the kids and I’m a celebrity. Well, I’m almost a celebrity more like but we still love it, if only for Ant and Dec.
That is two weekends in a row with no dates and to be fair it has been quite nice. That’s not to say that I haven’t had any action, so to speak.
One of the greatest messages I have received to date (apart from Christians offer of dirty sex, which I still dream about, sad as that may be), is below;
“Hi, I’m 42, have a 2 bed flat live alone oh apart from a lodger whose rarely in , 3 kids (one grown up), work as a groundwork foreman, a little wild but big heart, impatient, passionate, all or nothing sort of man. Now this is exciting meeting someone you haven’t met before, John ???? look me up on Facebook and my address is 48 ???? and I don’t want to know about you as the excitement is heightened, I am waiting hard for you now.”
Excitement, I’m bloody terrified not excited. Why would you give your full address out to a complete stranger and not just to me but probably to a dozen other woman who just happened to be online at that time. Crazy fool… and why don’t you want to know about me. You should want to know about me. You should at least want to know I am who I say I am, shouldn’t you?
I know I said I wanted excitement but bloody hell. I would also like to make it to my next birthday.
I declined to pop round that night or indeed ever. I don’t know what frightened me more the fact that he was naked and headless in his profile picture or the thought of his lodger who in my mind (I know It’s overactive) was like Jack the Ripper and just came back every now and then to rip out a few organs.
Okay, I’m fessing up now, I’m struggling with this.
I don’t know what I’m doing wrong but if they are sane they are too sane and if they are nuts they are really fucking nuts. Where do you go to find your average Joe these days. I can’t just loiter around in Waitrose on a daily basis like the papers suggest, fondling the aubergines. Who would look weird then?
Two of the guys that are messaging me at the moment are married and blatantly so. They are assuming that honesty is the best policy and so are offering for ME to USE THEM and then if I meet someone who can offer something better then I can ditch them and we both move on. If not I can have NSA with them for as long as I want or they want, as long as I’m discreet.
Oh what a lovely lot of humans we are.
The others are the thirty somethings who want to have a casual regular sex thing (whatever that may be) or so they say… they talk a good talk at least. They don’t really seem to deliver on it though. I, on the other hand am really fed up with just talking about it.
I love a bit of banter. Who doesn’t? I do also love a good bit of chat too though and a nice combination of both works for me. Remember J, he had it right, he talked a lot about all sorts of stuff, made me laugh a lot and was very flirty but not in a ‘any chance of a blow job’ kind of way, but in a sexual, teasing way.
This it seems is rare.
Luckily (tongue in cheek) there are two, yes just two, out of the 44,468 people currently online that can seem to be able to hold a conversation about something other than what is going on in their trousers and one of them has just asked me on a date.
Quick as that. He messaged this morning, said Hi. Simple. Now we are having lunch in Brighton on Saturday. It’s a long way off yet and so I’m not going to start worrying about what to wear as a lot can happen in the virtual world of dating in 24 hours, nevermind 5 whole days.
By Saturday I could have been swept of my feet unexpectedly by someone who works around the corner from me. Unlikely, but you never know. He could also have a date every night next week and the same could happen. So although I am looking forward to date number 7 (is it?), let’s not count our chickens.
Brighton is a considerable distance from me and so I do hope it is worth the trip and the extortionate parking fees to visit somewhere considered to be so cosmopolitan.
I also hope that it actually happens now as I’ve broadcast it to the world.
It’s always a bit embarrassing when you announce something out loud and then have to say a few days later… oh, well he changed his mind actually, grass is greener and all that…. and trying to maintain your ‘I’m not really bothered face’ is even harder.