I have introduced so many of my fellow singletons to eligible bachelors (OK, semi-decent men) in the hope they’ll be snatched up by their own Prince Charming. The Cilla Black act has been success on three of my experiments and I have watched the happy couple mount their white horse and ride off into the sunset.
But where does that leave me?
Well exactly where they had left me.
Now is the time of the incredible back-fire, where it’s all thrown back in my face perhaps not on purpose but it sure stings all the same. Saturday evening I dial number after number and await with baited breath as I am told the same dreaded response: ‘Oh you know I would hun, but I’m seeing Gary tonight.’
Curse me for being so concerned over the well-being of my pals sex life! As a romance recluse I only have myself to celebrate the life of the singleton. Sharing a bottle of wine to yourself doesn’t work too well and only results in an agonizing hang over for two.
So what to do when those you shared all your free time with have suddenly left you on your own? Why not try out the bitter hag? Grow resentful, grab a few stray cats to which you can use to throw at passer bys and curse nonsense about last weeks Britain’s Got Talent.
If that doesn’t appeal you could always join a convent or go to the other extreme and become a prostitute. They have a fantastic night life right? Either way don’t do what I did and become the bitter hag, rolling my eyes when a couple begin their pet names session (really, is my little sexy bear really necessary? And isn’t that bordering on the point of beastiality?) or snarling whenever a pal dashed off into my other pals arms. Things have developed further than that, one couple is planning to move in and another is already sharing house bills, I have been steering the love cruise boat and now everyone has abandoned ship.
Unfortunately por moi the love favour has never been returned, there is a serious lack of male suitors and none of my companions know of any. So I must resume my course of the bitter hag, I already have three cats which I feel is a positive start.
So in the name of Bridget Jones (before she fucked off with Mr Darcy) I call out to you singletons out there. Join the resentful revolution, it’s probably not the best foot forward, it might even be two steps back but at least we’ll be moving.
