Friday, 18 June 2010
The other day I was corralling the herd of empty wine bottles in my kitchen into a recycling bag, along with the entire Sunday Times (untouched- I only ever read the Style section), packets of Vogue Menthol Cigarettes, 3 empty cans of Slim-fast and a Dominos pizza box (what can I say- my life is a vicious cycle), and I got to thinking about what else I have thrown away...or what I may have thrown away, but really should have recycled.
Everyone is recycling crazy these days. Going green has never been sexier- I even think that Sloane who runs The Ecologist is hot- not to mention all the celebs who are constantly wittering and Twittering on about how we should be saving the environment. I suddenly realised that I shouldn't be worried about making sure my hummus is organic and my shoes are Stella McCartney- I should be addressing my own poor polluted landscape: my dating landscape, that is. I have to say it is looking rather burnt out and congested of late... I fear if I carry on at this rate it may be in danger of not being able to sustain any life whatsoever. Thus I decided it was time for me to get on-trend, stop moaning about not having a boyfriend and start recycling my old ones, or as I like to call it: Re-Dating.
My first step was to take stock of (some) of the men I have known in my life and decide which, if any, could possibly be salvaged and re-processed into a new relationship, or at least a decent summer liaison, without cluttering up my sexual environment with yet another rotting failed-date carcass. All of the cheaters were immediately ruled out: relegated straight back to the dump. Ditto the narcissistic photographer with a hairy back who in 2 years only told me he loved me when he was on ecstasy. I also cast aside a jealous rugby player who used to spell 'something' with a 'k' (somethink) and 'coleslaw' with a 'd' (coldslaw)- I just can't date a bad speller, no matter how good his body; and a man who just too short (I felt like I was sleeping with the cute blonde hobbit from Lord of the Rings) and also seemed to think we were still in a serious monogamous relationship 4 weeks after I had dumped him, i.e was quite possibly a bit mental.
I consider an incredibly sweet boy I dated at university who looked like a more attractive version of Screech from Saved by the Bell, but a quick check on Facebook rules him out- married (cue mild panic: how is Screech married, when I am still single????????). I reminisce very fondly about a gorgeous medical student who was in my top 3 all time shags, until I remember that he dumped me via text message. Actually debate contacting him for old times sake, until my self-respect calls and tells me to put down the phone.
A bar-man remains in the running: he was very sweet, attentive and a respectable 7/10 in the sack. I try and remember why I stopped seeing him and recall that at the time I decided that a) his hair was too curly, though in fairness he did cut it off when I asked him to, b) he lived too far away- East London to my West, and c) his skin was a bit too shiny (I am aware of how ridiculous this sounds but at the time it used to drive me crazy). A handsome banker was sidelined because he was always late, and even though he took me to fabulous places and was both intelligent and funny, and at the time I thought it was much more amusing to sleep with my slightly over-weight boss (I'll tell you about that another time).
It dawns on me that I have been much more frivolous than I thought! I am living in my own carbon dating foot-print! It was time to break the cycle: and quickly. Within an hour I had arranged a Saturday night date with the banker: he wasn't late and I enjoyed an evening of witty conversation at a wonderful restaurant (as opposed to the 24 hour McDonalds I visited after one of my more recent dates). The universe was clearly rewarding me for my sex-ecological behaviour, because after dinner I climbed out of a taxi and bumped straight into the aforementioned Dr. Text, who promptly took me home for what can only be described as a very thorough physical. And after this very enjoyable evening as a re-dater, I didn't wake up with another notch on my bedpost, or disillusioned with yet another man- already being familiar with and having accepted my re-dates faults. I felt something akin to the smugness I associate with women who carry those Anya Hindmarch "I Am Not A Plastic Bag" totes: and it wasn't half bad! Positive change is in the air, readers: you may think of me as the Al Gore of casual sex, if you so wish.
To REDUCE your dating pollution, REUSE your old boyfriends, and RECYCLE past shags into present ones!
Image by Doug Inglish, customised by Miss V.
Posted by Miss V at 12:27