The Horror that is the dating scene
For a very long time I thought that I was walking around with a bullseye on my forehead (Nope, since I am a women, it probably was a sign on my chest) that was only visible to a specific breed of the male species. This bullseye had a neon arrow that assured all douchebags, vagabonds and maniacs to sign up. And boy didn’t they sign up!
I think I speak for many people when I state that when it comes to the sea that is dating, then we have been victims of something that can only be branded as false advertising. False advertising involves a red bra that has padding and tilts upwards so that he in that oh-so-just-brightly lit restaurant thinks the girls on display have had minimal damage from gravity and maximum blessings from the gods of cup size. False advertising is telling a woman you have known for five minutes that you love her when what you mean is that conditions south of your belt are generally competing with the sun in terms of intensity. False advertising is agreeing to walk into the lion’s den that is known as Friends with benefits. Especially if the man is younger than you and has such ABS on his chest that his blood needs traffic lights to maneuver around them. False advertising is you believing that you will not care when he finally finds a woman he actually wants to commit to because saying no now means letting him go. Honey. Let. Him. Go. I know I know…what about the ABS? Smile and wave, take a picture…AND LEAVE.
Back to me and the fish I met in the treacherous sea. I met fish with the most outrageous scales ever. Yes, I mean ugly in literal as well as non superficial terms. There is the man who dared to promise a night of ecstatic rapture, but who… (How can I put this?) Disintegrated on impact. False advertising! Once I met this man who had the most bulbous eyes ever. Every time I looked him I imagined what it felt like to have eye balls that large. I imagined that the tear ducts could not possibly be doing enough to hydrate those suckers so each time I looked him straight in the eyes, I blinked more. But I was willing to overlook his eyes if only to prove what a progressive female I am. I can say now without shame; it helps if the man isn’t an eyesore. Pun intended.
Then there was the man old enough to be wiser but was still stuck in the xoxo mode of texting. He drove me crazy. Always sending me a Gd9nt and Hae (for Hi) which just killed me because isn’t the point of grammatical genocide to shorten characters, rather than massacre them? Then there is the older breed to want to believe their groove shall remain youthful if they snag someone who competes with their daughters for spaghetti tops…
I met a man once who lived in a residential flat but had the latest Android tablet, and surround system in his living room that would have impressed the best of movie theatres, not to mention the giant flat screen TV that was mounted on the wall…but for heaven’s sake, he took a matatu to work! And when his mother called he looked frightened. That was the most interesting two dates I ever had.
There are women who change who they are to snag their objects of affection, never remembering that you can only hide from your true nature for so long. And what relationship that begins on a lying platform ever has a rosy end?
On both sides of the gender divide comes so many stereotypes and checklists.
It’s a wonder anyone is dating anymore.
He must have a car, a good salary, a great accent, perhaps a superhero costume under his office shirt…but what about what he does for you? Does he remember your birthday with a simple lunch? Does he walk with you with the look of a man who won the lottery? Does he value honor as opposed to material things? Will a good accent do you any good when it’s out wowing the other shallow women out there? What kind of a woman are you? Do you accept that no man is perfect but it is possible to find that who is perfect for you? Are you that woman with a past that has gifted you the ability to be graceful that you need not seek beauty in a bottle that will peel of your skin to an angry red hue? When you think about the person that you are in your daily interactions with your fellow mankind, ask yourself this; would you date you?
I know, I know, I have shattered many dreams that revolve around the fallacy that Santa does in fact exist. But somebody has to do the dirty work no?
