“So, how many dates have you been on recently?” Best Mate said, as we caught up over margaritas to discuss holidays (mine), new jobs (hers) and boys (all and sundry).
“Hmm,” I said, doing a quick mental calculation and coming to the conclusion that maths has never been my strong point. “Several.”
I reeled off names and scores out of ten as we discussed their relative merits and lack thereof.
“I must say, you don’t sound terribly excited about any of them,” she said.
“Well, none of them has inspired The Crazy,” I agreed, referring to that bizarre state we girls find ourselves in when faced with the fact that we really quite like someone: suddenly becoming utterly irrational, over-emotional harpies with no self-control. “But then, that’s probably no bad thing.”
It’s a conclusion I’ve already reached: that boys who inspire The Crazy aren’t, possibly counter-intuitively, the ones I actually want to be dating. This year - and, to be honest, previous years - have seen my heart do teeny little freefalls towards somewhere dangerous, only to be bruised in the process.
And so, from here on in, I’m going to be a little more realistic - nay, grown-up, about things.
I’m adopting a policy of not writing men off too quickly (bar the obvious no-hopers) before I’ve given them a real chance.
“I mean, charisma is all well and good,” I said, “but the trouble with being magnetically drawn to ‘em is that so is every other woman this side of the Watford Gap - as we well know. And frankly, I’m tired of being the awful cliché…”
“We’re all it, though,” Best Mate chipped in, reassuringly. “We all fall for them: the bad ones. Even if they don’t seem that bad to begin with. They’re the magnetic ones, and they’re fanciable.”
“Well, not any more,” I said. “I’m going to be sensible. Somewhere out there, there’s a perfectly suitable boy who’s just not been given a chance due to his lack of previous arseholeish behaviour. And if that means working my way through a few until I come across one who’s not bastardly, but not entirely hopeless either, then so be it. I mean, a girl’s got to eat. I may as well do so with a few nice men.”
And so it continues: a diary peppered with dates with boys who don’t seem capable of doing any lasting damage. Sensible and grown-up reigns. For now.