No lighty, no likey

Dating.

Going on dates.

At what point in my life do I stop calling them dates?

At what point do I start going on them again?

The divorcing process is occurring. Forms are being filled in and because we’re sensible adults with brains that work well, all should be good. We’ll remain friends and our children are the things that will always keep us together in some way. T, K and some wonderful memories.

But. Life marches on like some relentless thing that is relentless and marchy and  at some point someone is going to ask me the question about dating and if I will, when I will and how I will. Your guess is as good as mine.

The gut-churningly funny @Rachellwilliams and @motherventing have already offered to write my profile for an online dating site. So. That’s that job done.

But. Then comes the rest of it all. Meeting people, talking to people, having fun and NOT taking baggage and fears and insecurities into a new thang. Fuck. Put like that it sounds all so tough. And pant-soilingly scary.

Two options. Embrace the fear, go out and try to work out what to do when you get the full up and down look from a bit of a shmink.  Or just not. Join the Innuit Monks and embrace a life of chastity and seal blubber.

Or a third option. Appear on that dating show. The one with the lights. Stand there in front of 30 women and watch the lights slowly go off. For any that remain, I can sell myself by saying my special skill is getting a 4 month old baby to sleep at 3 in the morning, and stopping a turning baby from wriggling around in their own nappy and covering themselves in shit. Boom! The Isle of Fernando’s here I come with the lovely Shanice!

I’m reminded of a time when I was single in my 20′s and a friend of mine and I went out clubbing. He said to me ‘Spen. Those girls are checking us out! If I look over there, look away and then look back… if they’re still looking? Then we’re in!’

He looked over, looked away and looked back. ‘Spen. Mate. They’re still looking!’

‘Cool. Now what do we do?’

‘Haven’t a fucking clue.’

First published February 25th, 2012.

Advertisements

Please leave a comment. Thank you.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s