I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me... or, pass the vodka
This Valentine's Day saw a dinner party chez Galatea for all my most
single friends - 17 in all. Quite an impressive number, considering
that I always feel like everyone is coupled-up. Although I am
beginning to be worried that I am, as I have long suspected, some sort
of Typhoid Mary of singledom. At university, I lived with one
relationship long-termer, but mysteriously my other two housemates
remained resolutely single, with only a few near-misses to their name,
all year. Only when I got a boyfriend in the penultimate week of the
year did they both, as if by magic, find girlfriends.
I fear the same has happened this year. Housemate A is settled in for
the duration with her fella, but the other two would themselves
confess they have the roughly the same chance of getting laid as a
eunuch in a nunnery. I wouldn't particularly rate my chances of
getting a boyfriend much higher. I don't know why this is- they're
both personable, intelligent and far from hideous to look at... in
fact, as I looked round the assembled singletons on Tuesday
(intermingled with a few loved-up interlopers, such as Housemate A) I
asked the same question: "Why are these eligible people single?"
Immediately, I realised I had become a budget version of Carrie
Bradshaw, and slapped myself quite hard before I started saying things
like, "had Charlotte finally found her zsa zsa Jew?" (yes, an actual
SATC quote). However, I think I know the answer to the question (the
single one, not the one about the Jew) . It's partly because our
unofficial motto is "don't shit on your own doorstep", as we've pretty
much all had our fingers burnt by starting something within our group
of friends and it going horribly wrong.
Months of recriminations, guilt, and careful party planning to include
only one of the affected parties inevitably ensue. I, for one, am
getting tired of this (particularly the party-planning apartheid) and
if anyone else wants to embark on an ill-advised relationship with one
of their friends, well, frankly, on their own head be it.
The second part of the problem is that we are all enmeshed in a dating
etiquette system so complex and pitfall-ridden that it would have
baffled Jane Austen. For example: you can't just see someone in a bar
you like the look of and go up and talk to them. Ha, we scoff, and
chortle ruefully. If *only* it were that easy! no, no, that kind of
approach is for sex addicts and people from Essex who don't know
better. Oh yes, we're far too metropolitan and cool to ever let
on that we find anyone attractive.
Similarly, should anyone else tentatively venture the opinion that we
are attractive, we also scoff. The fools! Do they not know the biggest
mistake in any budding relationship is to look keen? No one, but no
one, likes a keen-o.
So you see the dilemma. The only possible way that two people who
think like this can get together is by some sort of synchronised
mutual declaration (probably impossible, due to laws of space/time).
Or by getting really wasted and forgetting all the above principles.