Over the last few weeks I seem to have attracted a great many comments about my lack of interest in dating. I spent a great deal of my time in relationships that provided memories of pants (not in a good way) and thought that I was happy on the single shelf looking out at the world of relationships content that I was not going to pursue anything at this time, but then this happens…
Baby Stan the cat was born, he still lives with his mummy but as soon as I mentioned that I was going to be the proud owner of a third cat I became bombarded with strange pictures, comments and pitying looks. Heck my son even turn to me and said “Mum you need to start dating”!
So in five weeks time Stan will be moving in, this I have been informed is now or never on the dating calendar of my life. God forbid that I do not marry before the age of forty, I shall not of course end up on the shelf I shall self combust in a fluffy ball of discarded cat hair. Who exactly decided that forty is the golden age by which we must be tied to our life partner till death separates us and all that remains are kittens and mourning? And Why? oh Why? Is being single and without a plus one such an affliction? These questions have been spiralling in my head along with one other ….
Why is this bothering me? I have started assessing dating potential in the men I meet… It happened all of a sudden, this chap was wearing a great shirt we chatted and in my head I had begun to list reasons NOT to date him, we had only just met there was no indication of a potential date but no Becs brain hits overdrive and rules him out – no woman can consider dating a man that raises his pinky drinking from a pint glass can she?
Great shirt man was just the start. Last evening I ended up in conversation with someone who kindly informed me that I am “not bad looking” so at my age I should consider the younger man, a curve ball that hit me in the side of the head it was so unexpected. Oh yes because most of the men my age are taken or passed it… I do not think that is what he ment in this observation but really me a cougar I don’t think I could.
Through all of this, Stan’s moving in date has been set and as long as weaning goes well he should arrive home in 5 weeks. I have been badgered and cajoled teased and tormented at my ongoing single status, my resistance to change this might (this is a big might) have been eroded slightly. Have I succumb to the will of the masses? not at all. Am I going to end up the mad cat lady in the purple hat ? probably.
But just incase, to give me options if you know of a tall, single, good looking chap, who has great arms, a fabulous sense of humour, endless patience an ability to iron and is between 35 and 45 in age perhaps just… I might think about it.