It’s happened. After what seems like an eternity, it’s finally happened: I kissed a man. A man kissed me. We kissed.
Now, given that my dry period has been longer than summer in the Sahara, you might expect there to have been an explosion of heart-shaped confetti while fireworks traced out the words, “AT LAST” in the sky but, in fact, it was all pretty low-key.
It was also pretty rapid, since I’d had a call to say that the little guy was sitting downstairs with the babysitter and refused to go up to bed until mummy came home, despite it being 11pm. (Woo! Look at me, out at 11pm. Rock’n’roll.)
So the best I could do was a quick lip lock, followed by a swift cycle ride home, where the piglet was ensconced on the sofa, draining the battery of the babysitter’s mobile by watching Peppa Pig on repeat.
And that was that.
I haven’t seen him since; we haven’t even been in touch that much, so it’s fair to assume that there’s unlikely to be a repeat performance.
Actually, he’s a nice guy and good fun but I don’t think he’s ready to hang out with a mummy – even assuming that I’m the mummy he’d go for if he were. Hey ho.
So it’s back to the old drawing board.
In fact, in an odd twist, the old drawing board came back to me this week: not one but two gentlemen from the dating site got in touch out of the blue. We’d chatted – but never met – months and months ago and then, all of a sudden, they both got in touch within ten minutes of each other.
One of them was very keen but lived on the wrong side of London … which was convenient as, judging from his photos, he’s a chain-smoking wide boy with a flashy car and carefully sculpted facial hair. I know, I know … judge not, lest ye be judged, but we look as though we belong to two different universes.
The other guy worked in the building next to mine, but made such a hoo-ha about how on earth we’d manage to spend time together if we did like each other, what with me having an infant-shaped ball and chain tied to my ankle, that I eventually told him that he was right, we’d better not meet for fear of finding ourselves in the depths of such an insurmountable predicament: bound by passion but thwarted by a scheming toddler.
(He also blotted his copybook by asking what was wrong with my teeth. There’s nothing wrong with my teeth, it was just an odd shadow in the photo, but I imagine that if there were something wrong with my teeth, I wouldn’t have taken kindly to his tone.)
Apparently he’d clocked me on my bike one fine day, had liked what he’d seen, and decided to get in touch again. Thanks, I think.
Anyway I felt compelled to remind him that my general situation hasn’t changed one iota since we last chatted. His response? “It was winter then, I was in a bad place.”
Whilst I understand that winter’s eternal cold and greyness can be a downer, I’m not sure that the arrival of spring will automatically turn someone who sees kids as a carbuncle on their love life into a doting, rosy-cheeked child-lover.
And, to be frank, if he’s not ready to dote, then I’m not ready to date. It goes without saying that the little man is, and always will be, my number one priority.
But I must admit I’m fed up with being single.
As if reading my thoughts, a friend sent me an article this morning, entitled, “Six things that happen when you feel eternally single”. Here’s what it had to say:
1. Your family asks if you have a boyfriend at every gathering
No. No, they don’t even bother asking any more.
2. You become more oblivious to guys who notice you
Possibly. I haven’t noticed anyone checking me out for … ooh, years. But then again, maybe there really was no one checking me out.
3. You start to groom less often
Well, I was never one to be at the beauty salon every weekend, but I like to think that a certain minimum has been maintained…
4. You eat whatever your heart and stomach desire
Well, yes – but why wouldn’t you? I don’t mean to say I’m gorging on creamy double-choc-chip doodahs (not my thing) but if you’re a single mum who barely gets out of the house after 7pm, there is a limited number of ways in which you can spoil yourself.
5. You think about your exes
No, not really. I’m not daft enough to think that any of them was actually “The One” and I was just too blind to see it. Exes are ex for a reason.
6. Everyone has a friend they think they can set you up with
How I wish they would! Not one friend has attempted to set me up with anyone. Ever.
Actually, I have – several times – asked my friends if they know any single men who might consider going on a date with me and the answer has always been a resounding no.
And if your friends can’t imagine you in any state besides single, what the hell hope is there?