Mythical Beasts

Another month, another post. For anyone who is wondering, I did eventually text the gentleman I referred to in my last post, but received no response. He later accepted my ‘friend’ request on Facebook, and I note that his status still shows him as ‘In a Relationship’, so perhaps that’s why. I’d like to think so, at least, instead of thinking him less of a gentleman and more of a cad. Perhaps I completely misunderstood our interaction. Ah, well. As little as I wish to be pragmatic about the situation, and as difficult as it is – I actually thought about whether or not I would be willing to give up my long-fought-for career for this man, should it be necessary - it seems the only course open to me. Which leads to my recent train of thought. Actually, it has occurred to me before, but I have always been able to dismiss it. Not so much, any more.

I’m twenty-seven. I have never been kissed, romantically, I have never, in fact, had anything that could be termed a relationship, or even been on a measly singular date. I have certainly never been physically intimate with a man or boy. Had I got into that cab last month, I’d have been in a fairly tricky situation, with my probable partner assuming, not unreasonably, that I know a lot more than I do. And perhaps that is how it’s supposed to be for me. If we were all meant to find a partner, if we were all meant to be part of a pair, then the terms ‘spinster’ and ‘bachelor’ would never have come into being, yet there they are, large as life in the Oxford English Dictionary. There are more women than men in the world, despite the anti-female bias that still exists in China and large swathes of the Middle East. It is inevitable, therefore, that some of us will simply miss out when it comes to finding a male alter ego.

I have several colleagues, now in their mid- to late-forties, who have only recently married, and maybe that will be me as well. From this point, that seems an awfully long wait, but it’s a better prospect than the idea of remaining single for the rest of my life, and at least holds out some hope. Of course, by then, I will have had to make some fairly big decisions about my fertility and my desire to have a child or children, which these colleagues seem to have eschewed entirely. Single motherhood, which I could only in good conscience undertake if I were to be financially secure and independent, is obviously a daunting prospect, but infinitely preferable to the idea of being childless. I want to be a mother, albeit not right now. If I can’t find a partner, should that part of a woman’s life be denied me also?

I am trying not to dwell on the reasons why no-one has ever been interested in me romantically, or at least not enough to do anything about it, because it is too depressing, and frankly, too humiliating. Terminal loneliness is fairly ghastly at the best of times, and when a difficult patch in life coincides with the realisation that the overwhelming majority of ones’ close friends are married, engaged or likely to be that way within the next year, it’s pretty hard to take. I think even my mother, previously the champion of remaining independent and only being ‘friends’ with men – and she doesn’t mean the sort with benefits – has started to realise that there is something fundamentally off about a twenty-seven year old daughter who has zero romantic history. Single and twenty-seven is one thing. Twenty-seven, with no past entanglements at all is quite another. Maybe I’m strong enough to take it, most of the time, and maybe that’s the core of the problem. Who knows? Meanwhile, in the full knowledge that it’s about as likely as a real lightning strike, I shall continue hoping every time I get into a bus, or a tube carriage, or enter a new situation or group of people, for that elusive, mythical coup de foudre. I shall continue to read the London paper’s love-struck column, in the hope that one day I’ll recognise a description of myself contained therein, and I will no doubt continue to live life the way I wish it was in my head, where my imagination can create, fleetingly, a connection I ache for, but increasingly doubt I will ever have.

In other news, does anyone know of a good food therapist in London? I need to sort out my relationship with food – it is not healthy.