I remember when my sister was single, before she met her Mr Right and renovated her dream house with him. I’d airily advise her: “you need to love yourself first, then someone will come along who loves you.”
OK, I now understand how freaking annoying I must have been, blathering such nonsense.
I mean, yes, it’s true and a lovely concept, but it’s not much comfort when you’re on your own against the world.
Someone to share it with sounds much better.
A few of my followers are evangelical about the bliss of being on their own. And I do admit I’d rather have the bed to myself than sleep with a snorer.
But it was a bit miserable turning down my first travel junket yesterday, which involved dinner at a fancy restaurant and a night in a swanky hotel, because it wouldn’t be quite as much fun alone.
“You’ll meet someone, you will, be patient, just give it time …” those smug marrieds say. As I once did.
I was an idiot.
Shut up smug marrieds. It’s a jungle out there. And that cougar thing, it’s a myth (since I’ve gone with the whole jungle metaphor … Are there cougars in jungles?).
I can’t imagine anything worse than chatting up a 25-year-old. Even men my own age freak me out. I’m too old for these shenanigans … Says the woman who’s about to don a mini-skirt and switch on a smoke machine for an 80s-themed housewarming.
Think I sound a little confused? Yep, you’re spot on.
When life threw me curve balls in the past, I’d tell myself: I will look back in two years time and think ah, yes, that’s what fate had in mind!
Fate has taken pretty good care of me in the past.
Yes, everything will be ok.