I have just spent a very long night at the police station talking to several very drunk individuals; not dissimilar to a normal Friday night out really.
The only difference being that on Friday nights out, most of those I and my single friends encounter are married men. And, being single, of course, we are desperate, or so they believe, so grateful for their rapt attention whilst their wives are at home looking after the kids.
The best riposte, devised by a friend, after we were approached twice within 10 minutes of arriving at our favourite wine bar, was:
'Sorry, but we don't date men who wear jewellery' .... whilst looking pointedly at the fourth finger of their left hands.
And, whilst on the subject of marriage, it is something I believe in wholeheartedly, and would love nothing more than to meet a man who I'd like to marry, and he me. There is a particular woman of my acquaintance who has had more husbands than I can count, but they are always someone else's.Yes, I admit, I would like a husband ... but, preferably, one of my own.
The whole subject of marriage leads me on to my own very brief engagement about 4 years ago. The Fiancee worked in finance and was really rather dull. From the second I met him I knew he wasn't the one, but having recently split from a man who I'd loved very much (and who'd dumped me by text after 6 glorious months, without warning, never to contact me again), you could say I was rebounding faster than a kangaroo.
When the soon-to-be Fiancee presented himself, complete with two cute Labradors - a rare breed of man who actually had a job, owned a house and loathed rather than loved his ex - I was prepared to ignore his slightly controlling tendencies and the fact that he didn't exactly set my knickers on fire.... Conversationally, he was a little dull; in fact he rarely ever expressed an opinion of his own - generally preferring to recount his mother's views on any given topic when he actually opened his mouth.
However, I studiously ignored his shortcomings - after all, no-one was perfect, including me, and, maybe steady was the best one could expect if a relationship was going to endure. After all, look where all-consuming passion had got me (aside from being dumped by text)!
So when he proposed after about 2 months with a diamond that cost the same as a half decent sports car, I accepted ... telling myself that passion wasn't essential...and at least his dogs were cute and fun, even if he wasn't!
From the moment I accepted, life started to unravel faster than an Andrex puppy playing with a loo roll - in the space of a week he lost his job, admitted he was in more debt than Northern Rock, with more mortgages and loans than HSBC, oh, and still owed his ex-wife several thousands of pounds in maintenance. Things were not looking great but how could I extricate myself now...after all, lost causes were my relationship speciality. Surely I could help him out of the abyss... starting by selling the ridiculous diamond he had presented to me just a week earlier.
This would have been a tough enough call, if I'd been in love with him. I was not...and the whole sorry saga culminated in a break down (me), bankruptcy (him - probably) and an argument over a tent that he said belonged to him. Why he felt so strongly about that particular item I don't know, unless of course he needed it to live in!
I gave him back the tent and the ring; it would probably have been repossessed by Visa anyway if I'd kept it and, the saddest part of the whole sorry tale, is that I missed the dogs much more than I missed him.
Now I understood why the aforementioned acquaintance seemed to favour other people's husbands - she could give them back!
The only difference being that on Friday nights out, most of those I and my single friends encounter are married men. And, being single, of course, we are desperate, or so they believe, so grateful for their rapt attention whilst their wives are at home looking after the kids.
The best riposte, devised by a friend, after we were approached twice within 10 minutes of arriving at our favourite wine bar, was:
'Sorry, but we don't date men who wear jewellery' .... whilst looking pointedly at the fourth finger of their left hands.
And, whilst on the subject of marriage, it is something I believe in wholeheartedly, and would love nothing more than to meet a man who I'd like to marry, and he me. There is a particular woman of my acquaintance who has had more husbands than I can count, but they are always someone else's.Yes, I admit, I would like a husband ... but, preferably, one of my own.
The whole subject of marriage leads me on to my own very brief engagement about 4 years ago. The Fiancee worked in finance and was really rather dull. From the second I met him I knew he wasn't the one, but having recently split from a man who I'd loved very much (and who'd dumped me by text after 6 glorious months, without warning, never to contact me again), you could say I was rebounding faster than a kangaroo.
When the soon-to-be Fiancee presented himself, complete with two cute Labradors - a rare breed of man who actually had a job, owned a house and loathed rather than loved his ex - I was prepared to ignore his slightly controlling tendencies and the fact that he didn't exactly set my knickers on fire.... Conversationally, he was a little dull; in fact he rarely ever expressed an opinion of his own - generally preferring to recount his mother's views on any given topic when he actually opened his mouth.
However, I studiously ignored his shortcomings - after all, no-one was perfect, including me, and, maybe steady was the best one could expect if a relationship was going to endure. After all, look where all-consuming passion had got me (aside from being dumped by text)!
So when he proposed after about 2 months with a diamond that cost the same as a half decent sports car, I accepted ... telling myself that passion wasn't essential...and at least his dogs were cute and fun, even if he wasn't!
From the moment I accepted, life started to unravel faster than an Andrex puppy playing with a loo roll - in the space of a week he lost his job, admitted he was in more debt than Northern Rock, with more mortgages and loans than HSBC, oh, and still owed his ex-wife several thousands of pounds in maintenance. Things were not looking great but how could I extricate myself now...after all, lost causes were my relationship speciality. Surely I could help him out of the abyss... starting by selling the ridiculous diamond he had presented to me just a week earlier.
This would have been a tough enough call, if I'd been in love with him. I was not...and the whole sorry saga culminated in a break down (me), bankruptcy (him - probably) and an argument over a tent that he said belonged to him. Why he felt so strongly about that particular item I don't know, unless of course he needed it to live in!
I gave him back the tent and the ring; it would probably have been repossessed by Visa anyway if I'd kept it and, the saddest part of the whole sorry tale, is that I missed the dogs much more than I missed him.
Now I understood why the aforementioned acquaintance seemed to favour other people's husbands - she could give them back!
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