My hair is probably too short to attempt to curl it – I
had it cut into a bob a month or so ago and the absent minded stylist got a bit
snip-happy with the scissors. The result
was a good four inches off my hair despite the fact I’d told her I wanted to
“keep as much of the length as possible”.
Needless to say I won’t be going back to her. Not just because of her blatant disregard for
the instructions I gave her, but also because I had to sit and listen to her
witter on for the best part of an hour about her ex boyfriend, who by all
accounts is now in prison on some fraud related conviction. She also seemed a little distraught when I
told her how lucky we were that the penal system had managed to come out on top
in the case of her criminal ex partner.
Unfortunately it seems that when she referred to him as her “ex
boyfriend”, what she actually meant was, “my boyfriend...who I call my ‘ex’ so
I don’t have to feel guilty about all the other men I’m sleeping with whilst
he’s doing a four year stretch”. I like
my usual hair dressers. They don’t force
me to talk, which leaves me far less opportunity to put my size five’s in my
gob.
Despite the meagre length to my recently re-styled and re-coloured
hair, I am nevertheless, attempting to curl it.
If you’ve never curled your own hair, then to be honest, you’ve no idea
how tricky this can be when you’re dealing with long sections, never mind when
you’re trying to curl small stumpy tufts that barely wrap around the barrel of
the curling tongs. I am amazed that I
haven’t suffered more burned fingers than I already have. My left ear however has taken a battering,
and now resembles a half chewed dog treat.
It’s also throbbing quite a bit. Thankfully
I do have enough hair to cover my Quasimodo ear, which is lucky, given that the
whole point of me curling it, is to try and look somewhere close to half decent
for tonight. That’s because tonight, I’m
going...speed dating.
Now I’m not going to lie, even I feel a little like I’m
scraping the barrel of desperation by participating in five minute interviews
for potential mates. It can’t exactly be
classed as an organic way to meet
men, but to be fair I have always wanted to give it a go. The great thing about living in Warwickshire
is that the various towns and villages in the area provide such an eclectic
variety of activities for its residents to partake in. As it’s not a huge county, you also have the
added bonus of knowing that it’s always easy to find something to do within a
relatively short distance. The speed
dating session I’m attending tonight is in Leamington, which is the town I
worked in for over eleven years, so I know I’ll be comfortable in my
surroundings. My housemate and I signed
up for the session a couple of weeks ago... people were beginning to invite us
to parties as a “couple” and we’d also started finishing each other’s
sentences, so really we knew something had to be done about our non-existent
love lives.
I don’t feel nervous at all, but she’s full of
butterflies. I suppose I should be
thankful that I know I’m able to talk confidently to pretty much anyone. Despite not being a fan of idle chit-chat (as
my hair dresser will confirm), I am not in the least bit shy in social
situations, and this stands me in good stead for tonight’s task. As we walk into the venue however the one
thing that always undermines my natural confidence, is my belief that men are
driven mainly by looks when it comes to girls.
I know I’m not unattractive, but then I look at the rest of the girls in
the bar and can’t help but compare myself to them. Does my
outfit come across as too relaxed? It is
a Wednesday evening after all? Am I slouching?
Please don’t sit me next to that girl as her posture is too perfect and
I’ll end up looking like a hunch back!
Good God! Don’t sit me next to the waif as I’ll look like a tight head
prop! Ooh, sit me next to her, she’s a
big lass..oh bugger...that’s not a she...good lord I hope that’s not the
calibre of the rest of the interviewees...I mean dates tonight!
The men seem nervous as they move from one woman to the
next. I find myself doing most of the
talking to ensure we’re not left with any awkward silences. Most of the men I chat to seem nice and
genuine, but nobody is setting my world on fire. One man is clearly so put off by my
appearance that he spends the whole five minutes staring over my shoulder while
he talks. Under his over-sized jumper you
can see he’s an extremely skinny man, so I imagine that even looking at the voluptuous
woman in front of him is making him uncomfortable. Another man’s English is limited to telling
me his name, and what he does for a living – It’s a long five minutes with
him! One man seems nice. Not what I would go for usually, but clearly
intelligent and able to make the kind of conversation you can have in five
minutes entertaining. I end up chatting
to him for some time after the event, and if nothing more, I think he would be
fun to hang out with as a friend.
I try to imagine how many of my dates will “tick” me as
someone that they want to see again, and as I look around the room at the other
girls, I don’t imagine I will be at the top of anyone’s list. The other girls are quiet and timid. They come across as shy and demure (even my
house mate who I know is anything but shy in social situations!). They’re able to put their adorable “date face”
on and charm the men with their vulnerability.
This isn’t something I’m able to do...unless I am really into a guy. It’s happened
twice in my whole life. Otherwise I’m my
normal self...hang on...Twice in all the guys I’ve dated over the last few
years. Twice I’ve found myself in an out
of body experience looking down at a girl who looks a lot like me, but clearly
can’t be me because she’s lost her ability to, well... function...she’s girly
and giggly and flustered...she blushes at everything and she’s clumsier than I
am. It’s disconcerting as they poor girl
can’t seem to say anything intelligent!
It looks like me, but it can’t be because I am confident and
articulate. Some might even say I’m
gobby. What was it about those two dates
that made me turn into that girl? And
then it hits me...
I’ve always maintained that I have a type...I’m usually
attracted to big men with shaved heads...men that look a bit rough around the
edges...but when I think about the two guys who bowled me over on those dates,
they were nothing like this. My type has nothing do with looks or appearance. I like an arrogant man! The two guys that I’ve gone giggly for had an
air of authority to them, an arrogance that determined how our date was going
to go, and they were definitely calling all the shots. They made me feel girly and clumsy because I
was in awe of them!
As I look at my date card, and review the men I’ve ticked
as people I wouldn’t mind seeing again, can I honestly say any of them made me
feel that way? No. These are genuine guys, lovely guys, but I’d
chew them up in five minutes. I realise
that many of my “Yes” ticks, are going to be changed to “Friends” ticks,
because I don’t think any of them really have the personality trait that turns
me into the kind of girl they’d want to date.
I’m a modern day Elizabeth Bennet looking for a 21st Century Mr
Darcy, complete with his air of superiority and arrogance. Clearly I just want someone who’s going to
keep me in check!
