|Who will love this woman?|
To make this seem like a scientific rather than a desperate act, here's the plan.
I persuade 10 men to go on a date with me. This is an audition date and should not include sauciness or indeed drunkeness.
My friend Mary suggests I should get them all to make a meal for me. I am so tempted by this, but generally the state of my kitchen is a deal-breaker, at least at the pre-captivation stage.
Anyway - maybe I should get them to complete some mild challenge. Sing something perhaps? Any ideas?
Then when I've done all 10, I'll pick the best one, get married and go and live in a beach house with my kids and his kids and Ted the dog. Definitely want a vegetable patch, apart from that the garden layout is flexible. Assuming all the 10 men fancy me of course. Hey - look at that picture! They're bound to.
After a weekend where I completely lost touch with housework, doing the garden or feeding the kids, because I was messaging ever more inappropriate men, I realised that 10 was actually quite a lot.
I've currently got 4 prospects at best. One of these almost climaxed in an actual date. Unfortunately, it never actually reached fruition after he texted me at 3am to tell me I was awesome and then completely disappeared.
So if any men reading this fancy a punt, send me a message and I promise promise not to publicly ridicule you in the blog.
I've learned one amazing thing about online dating.
The site constantly urges you to get in touch with men you like the look of, but THIS DOES NOT WORK.
It is a rule that if a woman sends a man a message then he will not message you back. He would sooner die.
What is that about?
It's like a ball in a Jane Austen novel. Women have to sit on the sidelines, fluttering their fans, and casting their fine eyes about and surreptitiously revealing a well-turned ankle every now and then. They absolutely must not run up to Lord Wossername of Wherever and yell "Hey Big Boy, how about it"
Roll on the 19th century say I.
I'll keep you posted on any other findings. Just doing my job...