A friend sent me a blog link and I’m not sure why.
The pitch was something along the lines of ‘fabulous and inspiring…’
Seriously, after 300 words my first thought was
this; what is so inspiring about a smug, self-congratulatory blog written by a
woman with not only has a husband but local family to share the wear?
In her happy little child rearing community she’s able
to pump out offspring with more efficiency than a production line in a
Taiwanese toy factory.
And her perfect
husband helps sufficiently with their brood and housework, not to mention their renovations,
that she has ample time to sew clothes for her litter, quilt and blog and restore
antique furniture, while whipping up culinary triumphs in her Thermomix.
Bet
she’s never been late on the school run in her whole perfect life.
Excuse me if I don’t feel inspired to do anything
more than run gagging to the bathroom.
In all of her pomposity she has no idea what it means to have one child, one dog, one cat, six snails and a no-longer-husband. And there are plenty of single mums and dads out there doing it tougher than I am.
Actually I don't consider that I'm doing it tough at all, even though my kitchen is too small to accommodate a
Thermomix. (I have seen caravans with bigger kitchens
than mine).
What I have found tough, is diving back into the shallows of the dating pool; talk about your
mid-life crisis.
It was something like fifteen years ago, my last
first date.
I honestly don’t know if I can cope with the untidy
selection of discarded outfits all over my bedroom when my eight year old
daughter is already on that chuck-stuff-everywhere theme with the living room, and well, every other
room in the house.
I’m just too old for this shit.
No really.
I try for 'understated sexy', without dressing
like an invitation - lest I have to resort to combat training to get home unmolested.
And as much as I would greatly benefit from a stiff drink to relax
my nerves, I can't drink much because, when your offspring bounces on your
bed daily at 6am, you soon realise that hang-overs and young children do not mix.
This leap back in time to my single twenties and thirties
just doesn't seem as much fun as it was back then. I'm more
self-conscious now and for many different and uncomfortable reasons.
To shave my legs or not to shave my legs? - that is
the question. On one hand it is just asking for trouble; there's that expectation that he'll know either way. But if I don't, what if things are going so well he
is in a position to discover that my legs are knitted from mohair?
Not conducive to getting a second date.
If I wanted one.
And even before leaving the house, I’m already thinking;
Not.
I'm just not sure dating is worth the trouble.
I suppose it's validation - it has the potential
to show me I'm still a desirable woman. That I'm something other than than a cook, cleaner,
handyman, playmate, homework supervisor, dog walker and dishwasher.
But getting ready for a date knowing I'm
paying someone, by the hour for the privilege, even if
it turns out to be awful, is a bit of a downer.
Maybe I should just stay home, reorganize the kitchen
and put that babysitter's money towards a Thermomix?
Or maybe I just don't date at all. I mean I've had enough dates to last a lifetime and I'm not a huge fan of sitting awkwardly in restaurants with virtual strangers anyway...
I guess my ideal would be a special friend with a nice kid of their own where we could just hang at each others place, and or go to movies, when we're both on childless weekends - and have play-dates when we're not.
No marriage, no cohabitation, just hanging out: Friends With Benefits.
I guess that makes me the perfect woman in many male circles. But where to meet a potential special friend?
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