…That I had no control over…
So last week we had a family gathering (fam gathering, we’re hip), and for the first time I was the single one. Both my sisters now have ridiculously nice boyfriends, one was sportsman of the year at his university, the other is a French-Italian 6 foot guitar player. The only upside to my comparable crushing singledom is that vodka doesn’t expect Christmas presents, just your memories. Anyway, the coven conspired to make a dating profile for me on plenty of fish and match.com, I would have no input whatsoever. The proviso to the agreement is that I allow them one full week of control to see how it pans out but mostly so they can cherry pick my future boyfriend.
I have two reasons for putting myself through this potential public shaming (I listened to them making it, I was tense to say the least). Firstly, I’m intrigued to see what sort of men they will go for. My families opinion on what man would suit me is a sneaky way of seeing what they think of me, I’ve already heard the word ‘stable’ get thrown around too much to not take it as an insult. From previous experiences, my friends clearly think I’m horribly racist, they inadvertently Tinder shamed me. I’d like to point out that although I like being under white sheets, my partners are welcome to be any colour they like *wink*.
The second reason is that for the most part, I have absolutely hideous taste in men. by and large, I seem to be attracted to weird, emotional recluses who can’t socialise very well, one might say Tim Burton goggles. For any exboyfriends reading, yes that includes you too.
The hope is that the combined powers of my judgmental family and ‘powerful’ internet personality tests (which they also filled in, watch out fellas) I will find someone who is actually compatible with me. My current filters for weeding out partners clearly isn’t working, who’d of guessed that ability to drink tequila isn’t a sure fire way to tell if a guy is great!? Anyway, this is just a short post to fill you guys in, I have a champagne flute filled with cheap prosecco and an open mind, let’s see what my family thinks of me.
Check in tomorrow after I’ve drunkenly accepted this weird form of family-based torture and I’ll show you how many potential future dates they catfished.
Cigarettes: A native Indian came over asking why we kept signalling SOS (even my smoking seems to be a cry for help).
Dates: Future dates to come! I’m still recovering from noodle dick.
Exercise: Pizza with added mayonnaise is an exercise in itself! My organs are all Olympic champions.
Authours note: Unfortunately my mum forgot the passwords to both accounts, I literally have a pandora’s box of guys waiting for me on her Ipad. Maybe one day I’ll find out what weird menagerie of men they managed to attract but I’m writing this one year later so the prospects are lower than the Playboy Mansion’s entrance grades…