Being single is a strange thing.
Strange because you are thrown back into The Game, be it willingly or unwillingly. I find myself in it with some trepidation however, my curiosity is piqued. Being set free to roam amongst the male of the species once more is a little like learning to ride a bicycle all over again. I no longer have the security blanket phrase: 'piss off I'm taken' at my disposal. I have to re-learn all the social codes, the language that lets would-be suitors know that I am or am not interested.
Despite being nowhere near wanting to pursue anything serious, I am still a hot blooded woman, dangerously close to my sell-by-date. This biological clock has started to tick and I'd be a liar if I said that I wasn't hoping for my Prince Charming to appear sometime (quite) soon.
My Prince Charming is not the sort that you read about in books. He's a normal guy, in a normal body, with a normal intellect and a normal amount of tenacity. Too much to ask for? It would seem so. Either that or all the eligible bachelors died along with the British economy. All that is left are the scraps. And it would appear that the scraps have a penchant for me. Sadly, I seem to be the target of every dole worshipper. Creatures dug up from the mines, leftovers from the asbestos factories, this generation's wave of wanna-be criminals.
Snobby as this may sound, it does irk me. Without wishing to put myself on too high a pedestal, I do regard myself as being a woman with a little class. Until recently I had believed that this was fairly obvious. I make an effort with my appearance, trying my utmost to always look like a lady; I speak well; am able to hold a decent conversation; use words with more than three syllables and yet, these wannabe suitors see me as
a) being in their league and
b) being remotely interested in the idea of hooking up with them and bearing their bastard children
I think not!
Where am I going wrong? Why is it that I am unable to attract men with an ounce of intellect? I'm not asking for a house on the Riviera or for the keys to his castle. All I'm asking for is someone who has a full set of teeth and who doesn't believe my name to be Love.
It's a frightening prospect. The thought that this may just be the cherry on the top of my cake. Gone are the dreams of the glamorous career, the too big house, the wonderfully ambitious partner. Replaced instead by a poky flat in a bumhole area called Tooting (!), an unglamorous job and.... a pikey husband. The thought is too much to bear.
So, I wont bear it. This is where Laura draws the line. She will settle for this life that London has given her but no more. If that means singledom from here on out then so be it, I'll get my kicks elsewhere. Perhaps while I'm sitting on the sidelines the eligible bachelors will return to London and my tables will turn. Who knows?
Until then though, Laura will flit and float and fly and ne'er shall a Yobbo touch these lips!
L
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Yobbo's can be ambitious, endeaering, caring and affectionate. What some might call a Diamond in the rough. Look beyond the skewed teeth, unkempt hair and horrible body odour. You might be staring at the next Richard Branson, or the next Guy Ritchie. You might also be staring at the next Peckham pouncer so be judicious in your decisions.
ReplyDeleteGenerally if he expects you to pay for his full english in the morning he's a bumb but if he's embarrased to see you in the morning cause he can't afford his own full english you might be dealing with the sort of lad who has ambitions to provide for a woman. Or the sort of lad more interested in getting his next fix of heroin.
Life is a puddle of shit, sift through it carefully and you'll find things worth having, more importantly worth keeping.My rubber gloves are on and I've been sifting for a while! We must sift on it's for our own good, those who give up sifting land in the shit.
Good luck L
Beatnik Bob