Dating In the Future

So, now that it’s standard for girls to open up their bodies to complete strangers, either during one night stands, the proverbial ‘Third Date’, to ‘Friends with Benefits’ and any other way that they want to justify it, I have lately begun to think about what dating might look like in the future.

I began brooding over this as I cleaned out my Spam boxes yesterday, clearing it out of a proliferation of ‘Denise wants you to view her webcam’, ‘Stacy thinks you’re Sexy’, ‘College Fuck Book’, ‘Threesome Communities’ and invitations to enthusiastic sexual partners apparently active on Facebook, Tagged, and websites filled with Lonely Singles. SO. RUDE.

Am I to understand that instead of the acceptable classified listing people with ‘GSOH’ (Good Sense of Humour’, there will be ads blatantly stating things such as ‘Stud needs Threesome tonight. Apply if Hot and Horny, and willing to explore every orifice. Severally. BY3HSC (Bring your 3-month HIV Status Certificate’? Or ‘Cheating wife lonely for stud who is willing to be controlled. Bring your own whips, chains and clips. Vibrators will be provided. BY3HSC’? Or worse yet: ‘Couple looking for young stripper to do her business right in front of them. We love bodily fluids, so must be willing to get drunk and vomit. Diarrhoea suffers encouraged. BYHSC not required.’? Jesus come back quick.

Am I to look forward to dates where, after ‘Hi, how are you?’ the next conventional question is to be ‘So how do you like it?’ or ‘Do you believe in FDF? (First Date Fucking) Perhaps we shall go through a phase where it’s polite to give your numbers outright, over the first drink.

Guy: “I’m on 59. You?”

Girl: “110,” modest laugh. He grins, impressed.

“Popular girl!”

“Yes, yes.” The modest laugh again, almost shy. “I’m not doing badly.” Then she looks concerned. “Are you quite reserved?”

“No, just a little picky.” He says a little defensively. She nods flirtatiously.

“I like that in a guy.”

“Thanks,” He replies, confidence restored. “So, do you believe in FDF?”

“TOTALLY. It’s so 60s and hip.” She bats an eyelash. “And fun.”

“Wanna get out of here?” He zings back. She laughs, nodding frantically.

“What was your name again?”

“Frank.”

“Hank –great. Let’s go.”

God, Help.

In other news... well, there IS no news. Still single, available... and increasingly disliking it. But busy! So busy, it seems I’ve lost weight, recently, through no conscious effort. I believe in the Cravings Diet (out soon, I promise) which is totally Bridget Jones in its approach, so nothing gives. Still In Pursuit of Happiness!

Prospect! ...And The March Hare Contest

I had a hit in the last week. His name is James, and he actually lists the enjoyment of classical music as one of his own. He is age appropriate, lives in Kenya, writes proper English messages (with whole words and punctuation and everything) and the only thing I can’t figure out just yet is what he DOES for a living... which is a super important indicator of what type of a man he is, if he lives in Kenya. He has two children out of wedlock (but not out of his life) which is a little alarming as, considering his age they must be quite small... so I’m hoping against hope that they are with the same woman.

In other news, I’m pursuing Happiness in the form of entering myself for the Mad As A Hare contest on Scribophile. Working on my entry is not only keeping me additionally busy, but incessantly amused!

More news on James and the contest as soon as I have any!

The Virulous Hag

My apologies for taking entire weeks off without notice –very bad form. They have been work-filled, loveless weeks –or else you’d know about it.

No, I can’t. Seriously. Seriously? SERIOUSLY you want The Count? Fine. I’ll give you a sample from one of the websites I most recently joined:

limorasta: Hi there? What's your name? I like your profile.

stanmlula: try me

GuddyBoy: woww, nice profile, tempting

sigss82: hi, hw is u?

benkim4u: hi.

sallamhd: hallo gal. you sound lile my kind of woman.

lamacks: Hey.. ;)

Ngwasuma: Hi,you look good,lets b friends ama?

Enough said. Except, to top off a loveless, hopeless month, I received, last week, a private Facebook message from a Virulous Hag.

The Virulous Hag is a woman who’s only life ambition has been to get married, and, having tried to accomplish this through a party phase, a pious phase, and through work, has finally been taken off the shelf by Some Dude.

As SOON as she gets engaged, the Virulous Hag, whose immediate circle of friends and family are all married, will immediately click through something useful like a Facebook list of ‘friends’ in order to identify the two that are still single, and indulge in a mighty crowing session about her newly changed status –c omplete with an informal wedding invitation, to which is appended the inevitable hint of encouragement bathed in pity, such as:

“...I’m sure Marshall knows tons of eligible bachelors to invite, so there’s a good chance you’ll end meeting someone special at last!”

To such messages, the Poor Spinsters (such as I) are expected to respond  to the Virulous Hag with Joyful Heartfelt Congratulations, as well as an Eager Plea for a formal wedding invitation; which, naturally, none of us can afford to let slide, because of the promise of eligible bachelors previously mentioned.

Though it is good for us to reply through FB, we are also expected to follow up our original reply with occasional emails to the personal email address that she included in her message ‘in case you don’t have it’, which of course, we’ve never cared to ask for, since we don’t really care for her. These follow-up emails should be positively awash with compliments and questions and comments designed to stir up even more excitement about the Virulous Hag’s upcoming wedding, to show her that we’re sincerely happy and excited for her. They MUST include comments on The Dress, the flowers, a possible theme, a probable venue, etc. , as well as discreet inquiries on the prospective groom, and the story of how they met, because this will indulger her need for some indication of envy on our part. They must also include offers of ‘anything I can do to help’ because this, more than anything, will show her how eager we ourselves are to be involved in her wedding.

I have an aunt I highly suspect was once a Virulous Hag. Three months into her marriage, she was so traumatized by whom she’d married, she all but lost her tongue. For the next 355 years (or however long he lived) she dutifully fetched and carried and bore children for her Lord and Master. He thanked her for her services for the first and last time on his deathbed, and, after a suitable mourning period, she (and her tongue) were reborn. I have every intention of inflicting her upon my teenagers, when they come whining to me about some fatal hitch in their lives, such as being too embarrassed to go to school in last year’s shoes. She’ll happily remind them (as she has done me) that there is no clause in any historical document that states that Happiness is anyone’s due, and stridently add that Fairy Tale Endings are an American, Hollywood invention.

                “And everyone knows Americans are crazy. You had better keep your feet firmly planted in the ground, my girl.” She advises. And right she is.

I had to rewrite my reply to the Virulous Hag five times, because the first three made me sound like a Bitter Hag (the absolute worst type of spinster) which I’m emphatically not. The next one made me sound defensive (I think I included something like: “I’m happily single, and intend to stay so unless and until I have found the Right Man for me.”) Comments such as these make the Virulous Hag gloat all the more, because she’ll deduce that I’m in denial, since, according to the rules of her world, being single is not only so embarrassing that it makes you a social pariah, but it is also the greatest evil on the planet... In the end, I sent her something gushy and meek and mild, because, I figure, if she wants to gloat and enjoy a moment of feeling superior, who am I to take the pleasure away from her? Life is tough enough.

I have, however, absolutely no intention of going to her wedding. And it’s not because it’s hers. It’s because I never go to weddings. Or funerals. Or , really, any gathering of too many people. I myself don’t want a wedding. I want a maximum twenty-minute marriage ceremony, during a week day, that should consist mostly of signing the relevant legal documents. Then I can get on with my day, and my new husband and I can invite a few select friends to a small celebration that evening, or on a weekend night. Finito.

And now... on with more work. Thank God I’m a busy gal these days!