Another one bites the dust
August 26, 2008 at 12:33 am | In Uncategorized | 1 CommentMy life has been like a dating Ground Hog Day.
My 20’s were an endless round of dating dickheads, relationship-phobes, sports nuts, creepy intense men who wrote letters in their blood after the second date, Italian stallions in pastel shirts and the rare normal guy.
I spent more time breaking up than being in a relationship. I often dated two people at once to insure against a Saturday night alone watching Daryl Somers on Hey Hey it’s Loser-Day while all the shiny people were out having fun, fun, fun. But somehow I’d end up on the couch at least one Saturday night a month clutching a packet of Tim Tams and an irrational fear of being eaten by rats if I fell asleep during the Pluck a Duck segment.
At 39, I’m back on the endless mouse wheel of dating. I thought that marriage, however average it may be, was a protection against having to trawl the streets in uncomfortable please-fuck-me shoes ever again. But the marriage went Hasta la Vista, baby, and I’m back in bars and in the ether of the internet, going through a new, definitely not improved list of Mr Wrongs. The talent pool is much smaller these days, with over 50% of men still married. Bastards. Of those still available, I’m sure that there is a much higher proportion of tossers, tuggers and tools than ever before. It’s like natural selection in reverse. All the good, vaguely normal men have been winnowed out and are having loving Saturday nights in, eating roasts, playing Ker-Plunk with their kids and gazing into their wives wrinkly eyes. It’s only the weak or those destroyed through divorce that are left for those of us needing a date, a shag or someone to change a light bulb.
So, here I am. Dating, dating, dating. And, inevitably, breaking up, breaking up, breaking up.
It’s not so hard to do anymore, thanks to the wonders of technology. The big bye-bye doesn’t have to be face to face, thank goodness. I’m not one to text message a “sorry, goodbye” mainly because I’m really bad at texting. But if a big night turns into endless boredom or if I feel that a hot and stud-ly is losing interest I can do the drop by email before their taxi has arrived to their door.
I have to multitask now that I am a mother, employed, a gym junkie, a sometimes surfer and a very bad domestic so I drafted some pro-forma bugger-off emails to make the inevitable break up more efficient. After a bad date, I just choose the one that’s right for the drop. Below are just four of my Hallmark moments that I share with you, gratis. But remember to change the names to suit; otherwise you’ll really confuse the punter in question.
For a decent guy who’s basically nice but boring. Often obsessed with cars or trains and who uses the Cancer Council voucher book on first dates. Usually engineers, those who have never married or those who live at home with mum at 48.
Dear ditched,
Recently I have been doing a lot of thinking. It has been a challenging time for me, bringing up many memories that hurt and which I thought I had put behind me. Part of my thoughts have been a re-examination of what I want for my future. And right now, it’s not good for me to be in a relationship.
I want to say thanks for being a friend to me over the past six (whatever) months. It has meant a lot to me. Spending time with you has been lovely and I wish you only good things for your future.
Best wishes,
The Bondi blonde
For a guy who buys bad presents and wants a blow job after a $50 BYO pizza meal.
Dear I’m-not-that-desperate-yet,
Ten reasons that I don’t want to bump uglies with you, ever again:
1. You stink.
2. Bedroom antics – huh! You’re performance is so bad, it should be on You-Tube.
3. A subscription to “Top Gear” magazine for my birthday present. What the?
4. And while you are at it, what’s with the six dollar bottle of plonk you bought to a dinner party with my friends? There’s nothing sexy about a cheapskate.
5. You’re kids are truly looks-challenged.
6. You are old, old, old in mind and body. Hey granddad, go lawn bowling won’t you? It’s about your speed.
7. My vibrator is a better conversationalist and loads more entertaining.
8. My kids are scared of your haircut.
9. You wore Crocs to my friend’s cocktail party.
10. I am way, way, way too good for you. I give my charity where it matters.
Snap. Get the picture?
Ciao,
The Bondi Blonde.
For the guy who’s into himself and thinks he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. He laughs at his own jokes and doesn’t listen. He’s probably going to dump you soon because you’re really a size 12, not a size 10 like your profile on RSVP promised, so be quick with this one.
Dear God-you’re-amazing-don’t-you-think? NOT.
I have to say that you are a crap shag. How did you get to 50 (add two years to their admitted age) and be so bad at it? No really, it’s a serious question. How?
So that’s it really. I am truly that shallow.
I’d like to say it’s been fun, but why bother with the lie? I’m a Buddhist, so I’m into truth at all cost.
Ohmmmm.
The Bondi Blonde.
PS. Don’t call me. I’ve blocked you. You’re already hit 9.9 on the creep-ometer, so don’t be a perfect 10 (as well as a perfect arsehole).
Speak to the hand instead.
For a guy who has been professing true love until you discover he is either still married or in a de facto relationship.
Dear One, True Love.
I love you.
Although we’ve only gone out five times in seven months, I know that somewhere in the universe our spirits have been united through time.
When I’m with you, I feel that our circulation is the same and our hearts beat together. When we shared the pizza last month, somehow I knew that you, like me, love anchovies (or pineapple), unlike almost everyone else. I knew you’d call me at 5:00 p.m. last Friday and ask to see me that night. I’d been expecting to be with you for the previous two weeks since your last call and made sure that I was free for our wonderful time together. Thanks for the carnations and it was a pity that you couldn’t stay for the dinner that I had spent seven hours cooking for us. The sex was amazing and truly, it didn’t matter to me that you finished first. Just being with you is enough. By the way, is Ruby truly the name of your dog? You must love her.
Just to let you know, the reason I threw up the anchovies was a wonderful one. I bought three different home pregnancy kits yesterday and they are all in agreement. I am so glad that you hate wearing a condom, really in the final analysis.
Darling, I have been googling you (I must have had your name down wrongly at first) and I’ve found your address on Google Earth. It looks like a lovely home and I don’t really understand why you were embarrassed that it wasn’t good enough for me to go there after our dates.
I’ll be there is 10 minutes and I’ll bring the champagne.
Love,
The Bondi Blonde.
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Hilarious! And let me say, amazingly precient. Why? You’ve identified what empirical research shown has a deep evolutionary basis… As idiotic as the poor dolts seem, they’re acting out naked primate instinct that probably goes back to the Plestocene…not that it’s an excuse mind you. We have after all progressed just a little since then, but it is an explanation.
Comment by Andrew — September 6, 2008 #