Men are like buses...
Really? REALLY?? Who makes these ridiculous phrases up? On Thursday morning my bus was 15 minutes late, and then arrived as part of triumvirate cortege. Six hours later, as I disembarked the sweaty, crowded bus I travelled home on, having completely my first (and hopefully last) pole dancing routine in order to let other passengers free themselves from the crush, I was overjoyed to note a duplicate bus pulled up directly behind us – with just one person sat on it. On my Friday trip, two Number One buses played cat and mouse all the way home. So, even though I accept that I am not the best of mathematicians, by my reckoning, I am due seven men. Yes. Seven.
So where exactly are they all?? Admittedly, their AWOL status could be largely my own fault. I have been on a self-imposed (and thoroughly enjoyable) dating hiatus for the majority of 2016. I haven’t exactly “put myself out there”.
What an awful phrase. Suddenly I imagine myself on a shelf in some sort of dating supermarket, bedecked in my finest gift wrap, waiting to attract a willing buyer. Despite my best efforts, I have a sneaky suspicion I might find myself in the “Bargain Bucket” aisle, and dangerously close to my sell-by date. Excellent.
So, partly through time pressure, and partly because I genuinely do want to find my own quirky (OK, geeky) Prince Charming, I’m slowly warming myself up to the idea of dating again. I’d say I’ve reached the luke-warm stage. I could dip my big toe in to test the waters, but I’m still a long way off donning a bathing suit, rubber ring and launching myself, full-throttle into the murky depths of those already-muddied waters. Truth be told, I could be persuaded to paddle.
It is, after all, December, and Christmas is looming, and there are parties, and mistletoe, and festive jollity to be had.
Last week my father imparted a portion of his oracle-sized knowledge, and informed me that traditionally, when you kiss under the mistletoe, you are supposed to pluck a berry, and there are only kisses to be had while there are berries left on the branch. I can’t quite work out if that was his way of suggesting I put some sort of limit on my festive smooching. If only that was actually down to me…
Maybe men are, in fact, like buses. I invariably find myself chasing after one and missing it, or waiting for one in the cold and rain. Perhaps that’s why I took shelter for a while and stopped looking. But I can’t hide out any more.
However, before I remove my light from under this bushel (seriously – who really does create these phrases?!), I’ll just see if I can locate some mistletoe. The most abundantly-berried bunch I can find. Well, it needs to have seven berries at least. I’m owed.
