Single Sadness vs. Mating Madness

I completely believe in method journalism, fact. I believe it’s impossible to give an accurate account without personally undergoing the topic in question, fact. However, I also feel its hard to truly experience something without previously reading it - and therefore, you have the power of the written word.

A recent girls night opened up questions I’d long buried within my head. And it is now I’m finding myself thinking more and more about the above statement “Single sadness vs. mating madness.”

What is it about our human need to question qualities that others long for? There are always two sides to every story. You get the loved up couples often confessing the desire to let loose and have a meaningless one-night stand filled entirely with passion. Then there’s me, a long time singleton, like others I’m sure, who would quite like a man to share a bed with. A man who is more than just the best mate, and more I suppose, for keeps.

Back to the power of the written word - I’ve always been one for trashy novels. So it’s no surprise a recent purchase of ‘The Good, The Bad, and The Dumped,” has had me storming through cover to cover. I spent the afternoon perusing the shelves of Waterstones, in search for the ultimate Bridget Jones read, you know, the paperback with the subtext of ‘read this and all your relationship dramas will be solved.’ And so I found this title by Jenny Colgan. The problem is, if I’m totally honest, I’ve not had anything to be dumped FROM in recent years, but I can fully relate to the mental delusion of the facebook stalk, be it of a past flame or current crush. However, after laying eyes on the last page, I still feel just as unsure of my love life than I did before. Yes, it covers the dilemmas I don’t doubt many couples face – boredom, routine and distrust, but that doesn’t mean I want to avoid such a scenarios, ultimately sacrificing the chance to be positively happy.

Whilst looking through some documents on my laptop, I’ve managed to dig out an article I wrote last year on something I did, and still do feel is the definitive response to the statement above..

“Stop looking and you’ll find one.”

“Its these six little words that get pulled out the bag whenever your moaning about being single, or wanting to find that one person you desire to be with for the rest of your life.. the one.

Women aren’t that hard to please. We just want a man who’s a sex God in the bedroom, a professional underwear model, keen masseur and Michelin-star chef. In other words, we’re impossible to please.

At the grand old age of twenty (ok, not so grand, but no longer a teenager), we, as women, are expected to cherish being young, free and single. However, when you get a call from your best girlfriend asking you if you’d like to join her, and her boyfriend for Wagamama’s takeout… you know something’s gone horribly wrong.

So what is it that we want so badly? In actual fact, more often than not, it’s none of the above. On a more practical note we want someone to send us mushy texts when we’re feeling down, to cuddle up with when lonely, or maybe just someone to call our own at that dreaded family BBQ. You know, the one that happens every year without fail, come rain or shine.  I’ll never forget the moment I entered such a BBQ, all on my lonesome after arriving straight from work, and being asked the question dreaded by all singletons in front of copious amounts of relatives you don’t actually remember, but just know your related to somehow. “Still not found yourself a boyfriend then, I thought this year you might have had someone to show off, what’s going on?” Yes, that would be my uncle Nigel, the man with a voice loud enough to send echoes around a room with just one word… enough said. In all honesty, it was this ultimate humiliation that sent my brain into overload, where was I going wrong?

So I did stop looking, and got into the pattern of taking up those offers for Wagamama’s after all.  What’s so wrong with joining your best mate and her boyfriend for a cosy Friday night in? If I didn’t have anyone, I’d hang out with them, instead of hoping every male that brushed past me would somehow guess my number and text for a date within the hour. I have to admit, at one point, I was quite the mentalist.

Enter Jake,* a work colleague I’d never really thought about until I get a text asking to go for a drink. And it was in that moment I did something I thought I’d never do, I waited until the following evening to reply, constantly considering whether or not I’d actually like to be taken out. After months of complaining to my coupled up mates, I’d began to doubt it. What was wrong with me? I started to weigh up the highlights of being single, the ability to have a cheeky smooch with some hot stranger in a club, without the guilt that follows with a relationship. Again, I was jumping the gun, considering I was yet to press ‘send.’

Weeks later and things were going perfectly, we were still together doing all that coupley stuff, the texts, the cuddles, and most importantly the family BBQ’s. So I started to think my uncle Nigel might now finally keep it shut when surrounded by those all opinionated relations. In all fairness, he did - until I realised Jake* had also been doing all of that ‘stuff’ with a certain other. So as it turns out, it wasn’t just me he was keen on – his ex was also a strong candidate.

I came to the conclusion we probably weren’t as well suited as I’d first thought, he liked RnB, whereas I’m more of a Britney fan, much to my shame. He didn’t like theme park rides, whereas I’m an adrenaline junky. He didn’t like to drink much, whereas I do, in fact I decided I quite fancied a drink, or two, or three…

Its not everyday you wake up in your mates bed, her stroking your hair, head pounding and no idea how you got there. I’d had better mornings than feeling that nauseous sickness you get when you attempt to lift your head off the pillow.  “What happened?” I asked. Only to be given the most humiliating response of my life. A brief outline would include being asked to get down from the bar, put my clothes back on and leave the Asda trolley where it was supposed to stay - such shameful antics can only result in a week as an absolute recluse. But this week gave me enough time to sort my head out.

Of course, it started with the denial as it always does. Why should I accept the fact he’d been like that with her, when all the time we were together it was idyllic? Then came the anger and finally, acceptance. Obviously my female support network of friends played a huge role, on standby with tissues and chocolate, and the ultimate chorus any dumpee wants to sing “All men are bastards!”

Back to square one. So we go out looking for the perfect person, and then when interest is shown, we hesitate at the risk of getting hurt, only to be… well, hurt when we do decide to go for it. At the risk of being cynical, maybe we just need to sort ourselves out first, before we can be truly happy. Independence is everything.

The one, when he finally turns up, will be ‘nice’ without being a pushover, confident, without being arrogant, funny, but no comedian. Most importantly, he’ll have that special something you just cant quite put your finger on.

In my experience, even if these words aren’t the ones we want to hear, sometimes they’re the ones that we need to listen to. I’m not saying shrug off every guy that shows you interest, although maybe don’t start photo-shopping pictures for your family album after just one date. “Stop looking and you’ll find one,” that, I’ll leave up to you.”

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As a result of such digging, I’ve realised the question of which is better, single or committed, it seems, entirely depends on the situation, and the one you’re committed too.

And so I will continue happily with my sun-lounger reads, in order to escape the mind-fuck that is ones love-life, if nothing else.  After all, if it can happen in a book, it can happen to you.. right?