What makes us women attractive? This is a question I have found my brain pondering for quite some time now. Is it intelligence? Finishing school with a good few GCSE’s/A Levels under the belt, possibly heading down the route of university – slogging it out for what feels like forever in order to gain that accolade that, in this day and age doesn’t necessarily guarantee that dream job or even any job?
Is it independence? Being able to hold down a steady job, pay a mortgage, run a household, provide completely for herself whilst still having time to massage (his) ego and filling the rest of her time with those who actually don’t need a list to understand her value?
Maybe it is simply the fact that one must look good on the end of “his” arm. The constant battle to stay within the parameters of looking good with and without our clothes on, eating bird like portions in front of him whilst enjoying that large Big Mac, fries and of course the all forgiving diet coke in front of our girly friends. Getting up at stupid o’clock in the morning to tame the slightly exaggerated tousled look we wake up sporting. Either our “crowning glory” is too thick and takes a lifetime to wash, dry and straighten, or it is too thin and we find ourselves squirting whatever promising gel, mousse or other appropriate “volumising agent” we can find. God forbid we sleep in and the “lesbianesque but lifesaving” ponytail is donned. Not to mention ensuring our make up is immaculate, nails are perfectly manicured (excepting the nail bitters amongst us) and that our chicken filleted, push up bra is actually enhancing what Mother Nature failed to supply us with. Whilst applying some sort of “tango” to give the desired effect that we have finally gotten out of this bleak Northern Irish weather, albeit at a regular price of £15.00 and a few ounces of self pride. Nevermind the death defying, teeter tottering on those skyscraper heels we loved in the shop but in reality can very rarely walk in but seem to turn heads. I wonder are the heads turning and thinking “phwoar” or just possibly “ouch”.
As a self confessed singleton on the verge of poking my eyes out with that miracle mascara that promises not to give me panda eyes but in fact make them sparkle for most of the week, or drowning myself in the latest scent filled with pheromones to make him fall at my feet I have thought about this on a number of occasions and wondered have I possibly been trying a little too hard? Maybe it is time to give up on the daily beauty regime, go au natural and put up with the lazy girls’ dress sense, i.e. Primark tracksuit bottoms and hand me down trainers, while I’m at it I may as well bin my self respect and peter my days away watching Jeremy Kyle and a cocktail of game shows.
Perhaps I have been slightly too cynical and there are men out there who value us women more than I actually do give them credit for but in essence where are they? I have searched in all the normal places. The local club scene only to be met with drooling students who will lavish you with the latest “promotional” cocktail, vodka and redbull, or something in a pint glass that resembles vomit, during happy hour – with the expectation that they get “a little something” in return. The 30 somethings you find in the wine bars that are either “allowed out” for an evening and would chase anything with a pulse or have resigned themselves to the fact that being a singleton is actually liberating and they only have to be nice to ensure that you end up drunk enough so that the brain in their trousers is eventually satisfied. I even signed up for a year’s membership in my local gym with the attitude that I may as well get fit and search at the same time, but let’s be realistic, no-one wants to be chatted up by a red faced, sweat drenched, out of breath, semi conscious female trying to work out how to stop the treadmill! I have even caught myself eyeing up complete strangers in the checkout queue in Tescos trying to gleam some sort of personality they possess from their actual purchases. Hmm a pint of milk, frozen pizza, and a careful selection of fruit and vegetables, oh, wait that’s my basket! Not to mention the many times I have found myself flirting with male callers when I answer the phone in work. This is when I finally succumb to the fact that maybe the single life isn’t too bad. It seems finding someone “compatible and interesting” is proving to be something of a struggle and with some of my friends beginning to settle down I feel it is my duty to re-evaluate my options or perhaps, more drastically, widen my circle of friends.
The last resort - the online dating scene. Finally, as I exhale loudly, I come to the conclusion that there could be a few men in the same position as myself and as a modern ”noughties” woman perhaps it is time that I take the bull by the horns. I scan the internet and pick a well advertised and successful site. I read the registration page cautiously and carefully ensure that I manage to portray the fact that I eat normally, am of a decent height and build, have a sizable collection of hobbies, like to travel, although do have a fear of small insects and heights, and can crack a few jokes but most importantly that this is not a job interview for my potential life partner. I feel obliged to trawl the C drive on my laptop and pick a sober yet hopefully demure picture of myself – just to ensure that the verbal visualisation I have created does not lead to utter disappointment if anything actually does come of it. I click submit and wait anxiously…… Hmmm I can’t help but feel slightly excited as well as down right petrified. The first fear ultimately being, “Will I be recognised?” but lets face it none of my “settled and self respecting” friends should be looking in places like this!
The first few responses compliment me to some degree, from my “shiny hair” to my “bright blue eyes” or even the fact that my “sexy smile” would “melt hearts” but it also doesn’t take long to realise that there are some critical
Another type of man I stumble across on this site are those who have actually had their hearts ripped from their chests and fingers burnt beyond recognition so therefore pigeon hole all women as being heartless, money orientated, tarts, or are reliving some sort of misspent youth and expect me to be willing to come along for the ride. I have also been asked “how discreet” I can be or “what position” do I like best, setting off the “unhappily married” alarm bells. Perhaps this is not such a good idea afterall!
Maybe this is definetly one of those times when I can be grateful for the fact that I am a few years away from being classed as being “over the hill” and still have a bit of time left before I need to exchange my life of freedom for being tied kicking and screaming to the kitchen sink. My older friends wisely coin phrases such as “you’re still young” and “live a lot before you settle down” so I think, although I will continue my search subtly, I will take their advice, pour another glass of wine and bury my head in my favourite glossy!
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