I’m 41 and when I was doing my undergraduate degree, especially in the last year, the boys on the course made a game of trying to chat me up. They were terrible at it, and here’s an example. I woke up to text from one of them that he’d sent in the early hours. Let’s call him R. He’s been after me for ages (when he’s drunk)…
“Had my arse pinched by old women in a pub all night and am annoyed none are you. So disappointing!”
Great. Thanks R. I’m not an ‘old woman’ thank you very much. He’s lucky he’s several hundred miles away or he’d have been very sorry. I’m bored with his random texts now anyway.
Guys. When I was in my teens I thought they were something wonderful, something magical: that to be loved and wanted by a guy was the absolute zenith of potential human existence. Now I’m sick to the back teeth of them. My brothers and my dad are wonderful, I can’t knock them. But I’ve never otherwise encountered any male who hasn’t been in some way a complete dickhead. This includes not only the entire line of guys I’ve dated but also all the guys my friends have dated too. I’ve turned into a bitter old spinster but that’s kind of good. Will any man ever gain my trust, dissolve my defenses and heal my old heart. Not likely. One day in the future geneticists will identify the dickhead gene and confirm its presence on the y chromosome, dating back to a chromosomal Adam, first man, father to all males today 250,000 years ago. They might even be able to confirm a y-chromosome dick-head mutation that occurred 270,000 years ago when all males were actually really really lovely.
But surely 50% of the population are not really that awful. Maybe I just had unlucky experiences. Whatever it is I am not ever throwing myself into that particular fire again.
Today I got paid! £35 for my proof-reading(and I’m quite proud of the work). I’ll declare it to ESA on Tuesday.