OK, I admit that I was slightly playing it for laughs. But it was a bit like going 'I'm fat' and then everyone else going 'Yeah, you are.' I guess what I find troubling is that it's not even remotely exaggerated. The facts are there. I have been rejected by a lot of men. Sure, I've knocked back a few too, along the way. But that doesn't really make it hurt any less when it happens to you.
So why does this keep happening to me? I genuinely don't think I'm even doing anything wrong. I'm not too picky. I'm not waiting for a man without flaws. I am not unattractive. I'm not thick. Of COURSE I don't let on that I'm actually just as much of a mentalist as any other girl. I don't show them my cellulite. I don't tell them about the time I blogged about wanting to wear an engagement ring. I don't coo over nearby children. I keep quiet about the fact that I like the towels in my bathroom to be folded in a particular way so that they fit properly on the towel rail. I tend not to mention that I'm on anti-depressants, or that I am likely to turn to fat. Instead, I ask them lots of questions, and we talk about music and theatre and film and yoga and travel and all that other stuff, and I laugh at their jokes, and I keep the conversation light and fluffy, and we goon around and it's all good. And they enjoy themselves, dammit. But then they go home, and they think about it, and they think, 'Yeah... actually, no.' And then they evaporate.
I know, it's only got to be right once. And actually, my therapist and I decided that I wouldn't be pro-active about boys for the next ten weeks. So I'm taking down my online profile and all men can get stuffed. And then I read this in the Graun this morning and I thought, 'Hmmmm, maybe...' And then I thought about never having heterosexual sex again and I thought, 'Yeah, that's not going to work.' The quest will continue... but not 'til October.
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