Toxic bachelor
Check time. Pace distractedly. Check phone. Check time again. Act blasé. Spot you. Adjust shirt. Make eye contact. Offer bashful smile. Say you look lovely, even if you don’t. Kiss both cheeks. Smile again. Shepherd into bar with polite but loaded feel of backside. Make gag to ease tension. And so it begins… By it, I mean you and I. Me and you. Us. I’m Stuart, the new man in your life. I’ve been waiting, practising, eagerly anticipating this coming together: our first date. And now it’s here, now the moment has arrived, now I have your attention, I’m not giving it up.
So here are the ground rules. We’ll meet once a week – no more, no less – and bond over a selection of critical and perceptive (and at times sarcastic and petty) words delivered from me to you, in a bid to iron out your dating inadequacies.
You have questions, a couple to be precise: Who the hell am I? And why the hell should you care about anything I have to say?
I’m single. Perennially. I’ve had dates that lasted from two minutes to two days, seen women aged 18 to 38, from size six to size 20, from completely hinged to totally un. I’ve slept with single mums, been threatened by peeved brothers and offered the opportunity to share with others. I’ve been called a liar, a snake and a schmuck, but also a gentleman, a diamond and a dude (by the same girl who called me a schmuck – talk about ‘mood swings’). I’ve snuggled in cinemas, fornicated with friends of friends, and ‘sold’ myself on t’internet.
In other words, I’m real. I’m a real man, dancing self-consciously in a nightclub near you. A real man staring into your eyes over a moderately-priced restaurant’s table, wondering why you don’t realise your opinion/outfit/hair/insecurity (delete as applicable) is about as sexy as syphilis. A real man who can tell you why ‘he’ hasn’t called/emailed/texted/Facebooked. And what’s more, who wants to tell you. Selfless? Don’t bet on it.
I’m a man, after all.
So it ends. Date one. See you next week. I’m taking the left side of the bed.
Dear Toxic Bachelor
My boyfriend’s getting messages from pretty girls I don’t know on Facebook, and he’s replying to them. Should I be jealous — and would it seem too possessive to broach this with him? It’s really bugging me.
He hasn’t done anything (frankly, I bet they’re out of his league), but he’s thinking about it, so be jealous. Don’t ask him straight out, though. Circumstantial accusations are child’s play for cads. We’ll take them and, using statements like: “I can’t believe you could even think that”, turn them to our advantage. Play us at our own game. Pretend to have been ‘friend requested‘ by one of the girls. Say you were surprised, but saw he knew her. Then sit back, cackle and watch the messages dry up.
HAVE YOU GOT A DATING DILEMMA? EMAIL TOXICBACHELOR@FABULOUSMAG.CO.UK
