The last date I went on was with a man who, it turned out, was a holocaust-denier. You may think this was a deal-breaker but sadly, in my innocence, I actually went on a second date with him. It was only when he started blaming “the gays” for all the ills of the world that I realised I had to give up the ghost. I can ignore one vile and unacceptable opinion (I’m not fussy), but two in as many dates pushed me over the edge.
This particular dating excursion reinforced for me the possibility that I may have evolved past dating. With a good number of my friends knocking on the door of divorce, and still others feeling fairly mopey in their relationships, I’ve moved on from romance, skipped over marriage and divorce, and am now landing happily in a rather tubby and content single middle-age.
And even when hope springs in my heart, an article like this one http://metro.co.uk/2016/01/15/10-dating-struggles-only-single-mums-will-understand-5620811/ rears its head and I’m firmly put in my place that SINGLE MOTHERS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO DATE (you filthy wenches). We are, naturally, meant to subsume all longing into the greater cause of child-rearing. To be fair, most of my longings are currently around prosecco and double-deckers rather than gentleman-callers, but I still resent the implication that it’s Just Too Hard to try to date, so don’t bother. Hollywood is particularly guilty of this message, dividing single mothers very cleanly into The Good Mom Who Puts her Kids First (marriage awaits!), and The Bad Mother Who Goes Out, Drinks and Meets Men (sticky end ahoy!). Apparently you can’t be both of these at once.
A number of people have tried to persuade me onto Tinder, but I think I would rather fully embrace my inner mad old spinster than descend to swiping at men with my left thumb.
I’m beginning to realise that the compromises I need to make to be in a relationship just aren’t part of my make-up. No, verily, I am not prepared to deny the holocaust in order to have someone snoring next to me. Weird, I know.
This post is dedicated to whoever devised Channel 4’s new programme “date my mum”. God bless you for your hopeful spirit, but if Mini were in charge of my dating I’m fairly sure I’d be going out with Mr Tumble (*shudder*). Or possibly the man who runs the mafia-ice-cream van that parks outside the primary school.