Me, myself and wine

I’m what you would describe as a serial-dater. Call it tragic or impressive, I’ve been on a lot of first dates. 

But I’m not the sort of girl that turns heads. I’m really quite short and although technically petite, I’m curvy (mainly thighs and arse). My facial features are understated and elfish. I don’t have a mane of bouncing blonde hair nor a perfectly kept manicure. I would describe my look as ‘the girl a few doors down who may or may not be above the age of consent’.

What I do undoubtedly have is  personality. I have bite and charm. I can maintain a conversation with even the most relentlessly quiet types. I know what I want and I hold my own.

I’m the dating under-dog.

As most relationship columns go, predictably I’ve not met the one but I have met a something before.

It’s not often you meet someone who can make you feel utterly brilliant and genuinely desired, someone that could make you laugh until you cry and all the while maintaining an explosive chemistry. I have met that person before. But metaphorically and in reality, it’s been resigned to an endless to-ing and fro-ing of missed calls. We just never seem to be in the right place at the right time.

Or maybe he’s just not interested.

Frustrating, yes. But these things happen – so why spend my days grieving something that’s not even a definable relationship?

Albeit not a reputable source, Urban Dictionary defines ‘singledom’ as freedom, so does having someone really matter? I’m young, I have time, I’ve been told I’m not physically repulsive yet. What’s the rush?

However we live in a society being swept by a new feminist wave preaching that singledom is empowerment. Perhaps I’m misunderstanding their reasoning but I really couldn’t fathom a more lonely way to spend my days than spending them alone.

And before you think it, that doesn’t mean I’m unhappy alone. I thrive on my own and in the rare occasions I am actually in a relationship, I treasure my space.

What I do find depressing about my predicament is the amount of nobodies I have to filter through to find anyone with potential. Without question I’m a job-snob. I also work in a rather superficial industry so I’m somewhat vain and I’d relegate a man without a second thought if I saw them chew with their mouth open or eat food off their knife.

I probably do have too highly strung pre-conceptions of how a man should be. And although I may well be described as enticing, confident and amusing, I also think a lot of men would peg me as judgemental, caustic and abrupt. Words I can’t really confute.

As accepting and easy-going as we like to think we are, we all have expectations of people and it’s for that exact reason my attempts to meet someone are futile. I find myself numbly sieving through Tinder, OkCupid and Happn, knowing full well I would find a flaw in every man that I dismissively swipe left to.

I tally potential suitors against the fleeting but happy relationships I’ve had in the past and just seem to find myself dejected and searching for something I couldn’t put on paper – let alone the ‘About Me’ section on a dating app.

As my Grandma says, “the right fella will turn up when you’re not looking”, so in the mean time I’ll keep my eyes shut and my wine glass full.

Inside Amy Schumer

Instagram: @PippaBugg
Twitter: @PippaBugg

Images via Giphy.

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Ramblings of things I think about. Some insightful, some not so.

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