I don’t really know how I got to this point. I mean I have always considered myself to be a reasonably normal, well balanced person with no major vices or lunatic ways to speak of (one can hope at least), but it has come to the stage where I have realised, no matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to snare a man. While the word snare may seem a little bit strong, even crossing into the desperate spinster territory, it is ultimately called for. Recently I have been having visions of myself in my latter years as the crazy old women who now sits on the porch of her house hurling cats at innocent passers by and regaling children with the horrors of being alone. Trying to find a semi decent man in Dublin is harder than trying to find water in Death Valley. I have reached my saturation point with regards to men who are, quite frankly, more useless than a torch at high noon, and whilst I don’t want to sound bitter, (one should always remain positive in such situations) it is becoming increasingly difficult not to.
The problem with men nowadays is that they seem to have more issues than women, especially when it comes to dating. The forerunner in this category is what I like to call ex-girlfriend syndrome. Men cannot seem to make the final cut when it comes to their exes. Instead they become preoccupied with the thought that maybe if they hold out long enough she will realise her stupidity and return, ready to make the relationship work. This is a mistake and men please take note, you broke up for a reason; move on. There is nothing less attractive for a woman than feeling she is second to someone else, especially someone who you only went out with for a month but is without a doubt the unrequited love of your life. Yawn; every woman has heard that line before.
Another thing that I’ve noticed is that chivalry in Dublin is dead. Gone are the days when a door would be held open for you or a man would help you put on your coat. I noticed this anomaly on a recent night out whereby I was walking into a bar and assumed that the man striding in front of me would hold the door open. (I realise now that this assumption was my ultinmate downfall). Instead, he let it go and to save myself from a broken nose and a very embarrassing trip to E.R., I had to bear the weight of the entire door with my shoulder. I woke up the next morning feeling as though I’d been in a scrum with the All Blacks, and had what I can only describe as a contusion on my arm. Someone, obviously a guy, later in the week enquired if I had been bitten. I was not impressed. While I am a fiercely independent person, sometimes to the point where it is a hindrance rather than a help, it is still nice to be treated like a lady. However, in the current dating climate this phenomena has most definitely dissipated.
Finally, the ultimate annoyance in the dating world of today is men’s inability to text or call back. Why this poses such a major problem I will never know. Men, if you are not going to call a girl back do not, I repeat do not, ask them for their number. You are wasting time and effort on everyone’s part and there is nothing more deeply frustrating to a girl than when a guy who has said he will call, doesn’t. To put this in perspective for the men who may be reading, imagine your favourite sporting team/player reaching the final in their relative discipline. They are one penalty, try, hole, length, shot or step away from winning and instead of the going the distance and pulling it off, they fail, miserably. All men are familiar with this emotion, and it is similar (to put it lightly) to the level of frustration we feel when you don’t call us back.
While I might sound like a broken record, this is the ultimate reality of dating in Dublin, or anywhere else as a matter of fact. However, I did quite recently believe that my status as the eternal singleton was about to change. I was introduced by a friend of a friend to a highly suitable prospect on a recent night out. My immediate thoughts were that there is possibly a very decent guy here. Do not scare him off and more importantly do not under any circumstances act desperate, sad, lonely or possessive; generally avoid the maniac territory altogether. He was well spoken, had fantastic dress sense and could make me laugh. We got on swimmingly and phone numbers were exchanged; a very profitable night so to speak. Later that week we went for drinks; another successful night whereby the notion of dinner next week was suggested. Finally I had found a worthy guy who knew how to treat a woman. This fantasy was soon to turn to an absolute nightmare because surprise; he was just like every other guy out there. I texted him to suggest organising dinner as he was about go away on a weekend break with friends Upon receiving no reply I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and wait it out until Monday. I never heard from him again. Great. I am utterly forgettable and yet again shut down by a guy who I thought was the best thing since the second coming of Wispas.
This incident was the low point (I lie, a taxi driver calling me desperate was the low point, but whatever psychological effect that might have on me is too great to deal with here). After that night I came to the conclusion that perhaps I need to stop looking for a man. Rather I should sit back and let them come to me. If a guy can’t see what a wonderful person I am then he is obviously not worth my time. I have resigned myself to this strategy for going out from here on in. Or at least as long as I can hold out before the feelings of utter terror of living a life of solitude rise again, which in my world translates into five days. Not exactly a colossal amount of time but after three years of being single I think its equivalent to reaching the summit of Mount Everest.
The current dating climate in Dublin has caused me to consider having myself committed due to sheer frustration. So if you ever see a girl being carted out of a bar by some men in white coats take solace in the fact that you are not alone and remember there are plenty more fish in the sea. What a cliché and the saying of people who are truly grasping at straws, mainly me.