The Insurance Policy – Part 2


If you have found this post before Part 1, off you go….

If you read this blog in hope of an occasional saucy tidbit into a single woman’s sex life (come on guys, I know there a few of you and I’m sorry that I so often disappoint you), off you go too….

This is the second half of the story about me freezing my eggs.

Day 8-9 It’s the weekend and I’m glad of this as I’m feeling quite tired. I stay in bed until noon (mostly because I can, yay to no kids!) but I generally feel a bit off with no appetite at all and a slightly upset stomach again.

Fortunately I had no plans anyway so I can stay home and binge on Sex and the City. It’s also good to have a cheap weekend as I’m about to be super poor after spending $11.5k on my potential future children that I’m not even sure that I want now. It may be the raging hormones, but kids are really giving me the shits lately. As are all the Facebook mummy posts complaining about their lives or praising their kids for doing nothing of interest. Yay, little Johnny can drink from a cup. Who cares. I’ve been doing that for years. Where is my fucking prize?


Day 10 Up early on Monday morning for the blood test and scan that I hope will indicate these suckers are coming out on Wednesday. The ultrasound nurse seems really excited about my progress and says I’ll need to take the trigger shot home today as I’ll take it tonight if my procedure gets booked for Wed. She shows me the syringe and it’s huge! I immediately feel queasy but she assures me that the actual needle part is the same size as the one I’m used to. Why do they have to go and do that huh?!? Size matters people, it does.

I head off to work with my new syringe packed in a delightfully discreet black cooler bag with a random bright butterfly on it and some words that indicate it contains medication. I’ll have to slip this into the communal fridge at work and hope for the best considering the fridge is usually a high theft zone.

I’m called at lunchtime and told that I’ve got some nice big eggs, but the stragglers need a few more days to grow, so I’m booked in for another round of the blood test and scan on Wednesday.

I’m not too fussed about this as today I feel great!! I feel like all the sleep on the weekend has given me a burst of energy and because I’ll need to take a day off work soon, I work back until about 8pm to get ahead.

I’m kinda digging this no appetite and stomach bug thing too. Although I feel fat and bloated, I envision that I’ll end up coming out of theatre looking like Giselle when these eggs are out. Maybe I can stay on these drugs forever….

Day 11 Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! What the hell has happened overnight?!? I wake up with the most painful boobs EVER! Showering, towelling, dressing, it’s all torture to my nipples!! Driving to work I am for the first time regretting that I have a car with sport-tuned suspension as every single bump is killing me!! The cold office environment is also rather distressing. Could this be revenge from my hateful reaction to little Johnny’s cup triumph?!?

Day 12 Up early again for….you know the drill. Today I arrive and my nurse is unusually young. Up until now they have been older ‘mumsy’ types. This girl is young….and hot….and has ridiculously pretty blue eyes. Ok, this feels awks….

She is also really talkative and whilst I’m laying there waiting for her to get all set up for the scan she is chatting to me about random things. I haven’t noticed this before, but there is a basket of condoms on the ultrasound machine stand that are all unwrapped. The thought had crossed my mind during previous scans that these women were likely at a ‘super expert’ level of putting on condoms considering how many times they would do it a day, even more than a hooker I presume. But now I realise they would likely be foiled by the foil. I also can’t help but think that doesn’t seem all that hygienic, but I guess it’s kinda the same as rubber gloves in a box right?!?

Anyhoo, I also notice today the extreme amount of lube that goes on the condom on top of the ultrasound wand. It’s a blob the size of a large strawberry! Again I’m distracted by thoughts of them buying lube in barrels. Probably easier to just get it on tap. Anyhoo….

It all starts and we continue chatting which is still a little weird until she gets all excited by the amount of eggs she is seeing that appear to be of a good size. I can’t help but like her now, but it’s still weird that she keeps stopping what she is doing to make eye contact with me whilst we talk….whilst her hand is holding a wand in my hoo haa.

I’m told if my blood test is good I’ll likely be booked in for theatre on the Friday. I spend my day at work getting organised to take Friday off, and just before 5pm I get the call confirming tonight is trigger shot time. I’m to take it at the same time that I’ve been taking the rest of my injections, 10pm, then no more shots at all. I have to fast overnight and turn up at the day hospital at 7am for admission. I’ll likely be scheduled for about 8am, the procedure will take 20mins to half an hour and I can go home about 10am with a ‘responsible adult’ escorting me as I’ll be unable to drive following the light general anaesthetic.

Turns out the massive trigger shot needle wasn’t that massive. I put my last needle in my trusty yellow sharps container that’s been perched on my beside table for almost two weeks and get an early night.

Day 13 is bad. If I had known I would feel so shit that day I would have worked from home, but that wasn’t really an option as I’m crazy busy preparing for a brand launch the following week. My boobs are even sorer than before, I’m tired, my stomach is bloated and tender, it kinda hurts to sit and I’m on the verge of vomiting all day….until 4pm. All of a sudden I feel great again! And I stay at work until 8:30pm tying to get ahead considering I’m taking a day off before a long weekend.

Day 14 I’m up and off to the day hospital in the dark at 6:30am. When I arrive there are only men waiting in the reception area. I’m asked to fill out a heap of forms, pay a heap of money for the procedure that day and I’m asked 82 times what I’m allergic to. Unsurprisingly the answer does not change the more I’m asked.

I’m taken down to the theatre prep area and given an open backed cotton robe, with a terry towelling robe to put over the top and a blanket, all of which had been in a warmer. What a nice touch! Once changed I sit and wait for the anaesthesiologist to come and see me. There are magazines in the room with me and I see the top one has a story about Sonia Kruger wanting to have a second baby at 51. Fuck that shit! Sure, it’s potentially possible after doing this that I could do that myself, but I’m pretty sure if I get to 51 and I haven’t used these eggs, I would have stopped paying the freezer bill a while ago!

The anaesthesiologist guy comes and asks me all the questions I’ve answered on the forms. The anaesthetic nurse comes and does the same. My doctor comes and does it too. Then I’m taken down to theatre at 7:45am.

Shit this is a real theatre. There are lots of machines in the room and about 5 or 6 people who I assume are about to see my vagina. Everything is white and bright and I’m asked to lay down on the bed in the middle of the room. I’m not sure what I expected really, but it was probably something more like my doctors office when I get a pap test, the only difference being that I would be asleep for it today.

I’m laying on the bed whilst the anaesthesiologist is talking to me and putting a cannula in my hand and I notice the stirrup type leg rests beside the bed. Again I’m thinking about my vagina on full display with my legs in the stirrups and….

Holy shit where am I?! That anaesthetic guy pulled a swifty on me. It’s like I’ve been roofied. I’m in recovery and I can see a clock on the wall that says it’s 8:20am. I’m really sleepy but I’m feeling ok which is a relief as I’ve woken up from anaesthetic before and been sick over the side of the bed….and been told off by the nurse as I didn’t wait for her to give me a bucket. Sorry lady, I was not in control of my bodily functions!!

A nurse comes over and asks how I am and I tell her I’m fine, but sleepy. She walks away and I drift in and out trying to make my eyes stay open. She comes back a little later when I’m more awake and pulls back the blanket to get my hand out. They write the number of eggs they have collected on your hand so that you know as soon as you wake up and my hand is telling me….


Sweeeeeeeeeeeeet! The scans were showing 8-9 eggs in each ovary so I had in my head I would get 16 or more. This is good!

After a while I’m feeling ok and the nurse gets me out of bed and moves me to the recovery lounge area to eat some breakfast. I’m put in an armchair and given cheese and crackers (WTF do you call this, French breakfast?), some cookies, an apple juice, a bottle of water and a coffee.

My blood pressure is a bit low and I’m told I’ll have to wait until it comes up. I’m offered more cheese and crackers and let’s face it, cheese and crackers are always the best little meal option on a tight ass flight, so I go again.

I’m sitting there alone with a number of other women around me also recovering who are all sitting their with their male partners. I overhear that the couple next to me are both called Peter. Yup, Peta and Peter. Seriously.

Soon I’m feeling better, my dad has arrived to pick me up (because #matureadult) and I’m ready to go home.

I’m told the scientists will analyse my eggs and call me in the afternoon to let me know how many eggs could be frozen. I hadn’t really considered that the number of my hand would not be the final number up until this point.

I get home and mum has made me a care package of her amazing cinnamon scrolls and chicken pot pies for later. The scientist calls shortly after and tells me of the 18 eggs they collected, only 12 were mature and suitable for freezing. Immediately I’m disappointed. A 33% failure rate is more than I expected. Even though 9-12 frozen eggs per cycle is average and I was on the upper end of average, I’m still frustrated that I so quickly went from overachiever to just average.

But I had in my mind originally that I was hoping for 12, maybe I’d get 8 or 9 and if it was 6 or less I would have to go back for another attempt. 12 is enough for me to feel like I’ve got a reasonable insurance policy, so I am going to leave it at that.

My folks leave and I log in to work and respond to a few emails. Everything seems under control so I lay on the lounge for a bit…which turned into most of the afternoon. I could not stay awake and moving around hurt. This was the most painful my insides had been so far.

The day after I’m still really tired and tender and I again spend most of the day on the lounge. I’m really glad my procedure was done on a Friday so I had the next day to recover as well. By Sunday I’m not so tired anymore, nor as sore, but my boobs are still killing!!

Who knows what will happen from here. With my current dislike for children I may never use the eggs, but I’m glad that I will have the option there and available to me. Or I may not use them because I end up having a baby naturally, but at least I know I have back up and I can feasibly delay my choice to have kids (or not) for many more years than nature usually intends.

All in all, I’m glad I did it and it wasn’t that much of a disruption to my life. Assuming my boobs go back to normal. Otherwise I’ll need a new more sensible car….

The Sexiest Unattractive Man Ever


Last week Ms R and I headed out on a last minute adventure to the Chris Isaak concert. Grabbing some champers and a cheese platter in a bar before the show, we discussed the allure of Mr Isaak.

I’ve personally had the hots for him for many, many years. I told Ms R that although I thought he was in his early 50’s, I would most certainly go there given the chance!

Ms R disagreed saying he was a great entertainer, but far too old for her. To be fair, Ms R has been known to enjoy a slightly/lotly younger man ;p

Both in our mid-30’s, we were some of the youngest in the crowd when we arrived at the show. The opening act was James Reyne and he was amazing, yet had a distinctly 80’s sound. Again we debated if we’d go there and I was a definitive yes. Ms R was starting to come around, but not willing to commit. I googled and discovered he was 58. Shit!

So then we googled Chris Isaak. 59. Shit!!!

But……he is sexy as hell. The charm of a cheeky, charismatic man is very hard to beat. Many women go nuts for a musician, but personally my mind wanders to thoughts of how quickly they can strum their own instrument rather than how well they can strum mine….

After a few songs where we were up dancing and gazing longingly at Chris, I quizzed Ms R again as to if she still wouldn’t go there. She had changed her mind! I now had more competition….more competiton than the 40’s/ 50’s/ 60’s year old women just a glass of Chardy shy of throwing their knickers on stage.

Even with his boxer bashed nose, his Elvis hair and his ahem….short stature (185cm), I still would go there. He is deeeeeeeelicious!! Cheeky and charismatic trumps Bondi Vet/Channing Tatum caliber looks any day.

Oh and rich. That helps too…..   🙂

Trying Something New

I have rubbished speed dating in the past because of the 5 or 6 times that I’ve done it, all but one session has been really terrible. On one occasion I was stuck on a wine tour bus in the Hunter Valley on a 45 degree day with a psycho that decided we were destined to get married within 5 minutes of meeting. On another I had to endure a 15 minute date with a man who was a courier and thought that I wouldn’t understand what that involved from the title, so told me about the type and size of all the parcels he delivers in great (excruciating) detail.

I said after those two last disasters that I would never try it again….but I think we all know by now that I never stand by my word on these things….

SSIS: “I’m never using Tinder again….”

SSIS: “I’m never buying RSVP stamps again….”

Anyhoo, I had been keeping my eye on a new company called CitySwoon who was doing speed dating events, but they were a little different to the norm.  They had held a games night at the Arthouse recently which sounded like fun, but had sold out of female tickets by the time I went to book.

When I saw that the next event was for speed dating combined with the movie Trainwreck which I definitely wanted to see, I thought what’s the worst that can happen? Even if all the guys are duds, at least I’ll enjoy the movie….

So when the night rolled around last Friday, I arrive at the cinemas on time at 6:30pm and I’m greeted by someone from CitySwoon. He gives me an allocated seating movie ticket randomly plucked from a pile and tells me to head in to the cinema by 6:45pm. I grab a drink and when I find my seat inside, I’m on the aisle and there is already a guy sitting in the seat next to mine, who I assume is my date.

He immediately confirms this by introducing himself and we get chatting. He seems nervous as he rapid fire tells me about his recent holiday for a few mins, but then eases into it and conversation flows effortlessly for the 20-25 mins of trailers whilst the cinema fills.

I’ve always found movie dates when it’s very early days with someone quite awkward, but this time I felt that it gave an interesting insight into my date’s personality. In a few places through the movie my new friend found some scenes hilariously funny with a big boisterous laugh almost leaping out of his seat, but usually at things I didn’t find that funny. The same seemed to happen in reverse when I found things really funny.

When the movie ends we are to head to the Gold Class bar for some speed dating. Although I enjoyed my conversation with my movie date, he isn’t my usual type and I couldn’t really see myself wanting to go on a real date with him. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom and tell him I’ll see him at the bar.

After the usual epic female toilets queue, I get to the bar to find myself at the end of an even longer drinks queue for our group, which wouldn’t be so bad except I’m stuck in the middle of a group of girls. I make chit chat and hope that I don’t leave here having only achieved meeting some cool chicks….as so often happens to me.

After getting a drink I see that the group are pairing off whilst we wait for the arranged dates to start, so I look around, see a tall guy standing by himself and approach him. After a few mins of chatting, I’m not feeling it and he flips open his phone case to check if we’ve been sent anything by CitySwoon yet and I notice that his screen saver is a pic of a young child.

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnd I’m out.

When everyone has their drink, the dates begin. We all get a txt asking us to log in to the CitySwoon site where our first match will be revealed. We’ve apparently been matched based on the profile questions that we had to fill out on the website prior to the event. We are not really given any insight into how this matching program works, but I assume at the very least it’s looking at things like age, smoking, kids, height etc.

I eagerly look at my match. At the top of the screen I see his name and which end of the bar to meet him at and as I continue scrolling I see……a smile with a great big gap between the teeth. It’s ironic in the Alanis Morrisette kinda way.

I meet my date and yes the teeth thing is one of my weird quirks I know, but he is also shorter than me so I think we are equally as uninterested in each other. We have somewhat awkward chit chat, which is mostly me talking to fill the gap.

After what seems like a very short period of time (yay), we get another txt and a new match delivered on the website. My next match is the first guy’s friend. Also not my type, also slightly awkward chit chat.

The rest of the dates continue a little like that, but I must say everyone is in a good mood and they are mostly a fun group. There were two good looking tall guys out of my 7 matches, both I had great chats with, but both were late 20’s I think (indeed one definitely said he was 28). The age range for the event was meant to be 30-50, so maybe they fibbed on their profile?!

The night ends, I haven’t met anyone I’d be inclined to actively pursue, but maybe I’d want to catch up with the young tall guys if they contacted me. Maybe…

But I had a fun night and there were no psychos, so it exceeded my expectations. I provided feedback at the end that I like the concept of ‘matched’ speed dating where your dates are based on some kind of logic rather than just getting 12 guys and 12 girls in a room and seeing if magic happens, but I feel that most people have those fundamental deal breakers that must be met for the concept to work. Like smoking, kids and especially height for me and many women I know.

One of the guys even said to me ‘wow you make me feel short’. Geeze, thanks buddy, I now feel like a giraffe…

My Game of 1-100

I have a theory that the men that display bad dating behaviour, you know, things like planning a second or third date with you but ghosting before it happens, do so because they have so much choice. They can easily and quickly meet women near them via Tinder and you can be supposedly ‘upgraded’ and cast aside before you know it.

It’s definitely due to the man drought. Yes, there is a statistically proven man drought in Sydney where women in their 30’s outnumber men, but that’s just accounting for quantity. Compounding the drought impact is that the men that we do have access to are largely of the quality that you wouldn’t even take an Uber ride with, let alone go on a date with.

I never hear anyone say “oh I have this single guy friend who is so smart and nice looking, so funny, has his shit together, wants to meet a nice girl, but just can’t find one”. NEVER. But you hear it all the time about great women looking for a nice guy and I know a number of them!

I’ve met a lot them whilst doing things like speed dating, via this blog and even through Tinder. Yes, the strategist in me decided one day to check out the women on Tinder to see what my competition was like and I ended up befriending a girl. Sure there are a lot of train wreck duds on there, but there seems to be A LOT of quality women too. Dang it…

It appeared that men have an abundance of good options at their disposal if they just take a little time swiping through the occasional lady dud. I assume guys would have a high swipe right strike rate, perhaps they are even at risk of RSI, but I estimated that I swipe right less than 2% of the time.

So when I restarted my Tinder account to find Mike, I decided to put it to the test and play the 1-100 game from Sex and City. In the ep Carrie and Charlotte are sitting at a table outside a cafe and for every man they see walk past, they note down whether they would want to sleep with him based on first impressions.

As I swiped though the Tinder profiles, I screen shotted each of the men and decided based on their first pic only if I would swipe right or not to them. It took less than 15 minutes to get through 100 profiles (those in the pic, blurred for some privacy…) and I was quite surprised by the result.

Out of those 100 men, if I only got to see that one pic I would have swiped right to 14. Maybe Tinder was serving up the most popular profiles because it thought I was a newbie and needed to be wowed, but I was really surprised by liking 14% of the guys.

Of course, although first impressions are a strong factor in dating, it is not everything. I’m not shallow enough / I’m far too picky to make life decisions on just one pic. In fact, if a guy only has one pic I swipe left as I assume that they randomly nailed that one hot pic and they look nothing like that photo. Maybe I have trust issues….

Of those 14 guys, after further investigation into the rest of their profile only 6 continued to hold my interest. I matched with 5 of those 6, but 2 never bothered chatting, 1 was too short, 1 had kids, the last was boring as shit.

From 14 to 0 in record time. The drought continues….

Bon Voyage

I was left feeling quite disappointed after date 2 with the Very Cheeky Englishman. Finally a man that I liked (so far, it was very early days…) and who seemed really into me, but he was soon to disappear. What kind of luck is that?! Yet another case of my bad timing with men.

It did raise a lot of questions for me though. Why did his online profile seem to indicate that he was looking for a relationship, but he is about to head overseas for a while? Why did he not tell me that his departure was imminent before we met in person? Or even on our first date? Or to my face on our second date rather than txt bombing me?

Was this why he was so rushed to see me again? Was he really looking to date, or just to seal the deal before he went away? If so, why did he agree to a very non-sex type of date being a weekday lunch? Is his gentleman-like charm genuine, or just an act for a short lived romance before he leaves? Is he leaving at all, or is it just a ruse to expedite some action?

Oh, I don’t know. If I have learned anything from dating it is that men are generally skittish like birds. They are so unpredictable that there is no point agonising over things they do and say until you really know them and you can establish some consistency to their behaviour.

I considered not seeing him again before he left and waiting until he returned (if he did). I actually told him I felt unsure of how genuine he was seeing he didn’t tell me he was leaving until now. His response was that he told me because he liked and respected me and wanted to tell me before things became more involved, but he is definitely coming back so still thought it was worthwhile us starting to date. He also said that if he didn’t care about me at all, he could have omitted the fact he was leaving from our next date and just disappear. Fair point I guess…

But in the end, I knew that I enjoyed his company, that I was crazy attracted to him and that we definitely had chemistry together which so rarely happens, so I decided to just go with it.

The only time our schedules lined up for the weekend was Sunday lunch. He came to pick me up and we went to the nearby rowers club for lunch by the water. He was dressed casually (unfortunately no suit…) but he still looked great.

We eat and have a lovely time, but I certainly feel like I’m acting with some restraint knowing that whatever happens between us is about to be put on pause for a few months. But having said that, under normal circumstances I would have the same restraint anyway. By date 3 I’m not welcoming deep and meaningful conversations about our future together. I’m not thinking about our labrador’s name and side-by-side burial plots. I’m more focused on deciding if I’m having a good time with him, then eventually (approximately date 27….) it will become clear if there is enough between us to really be with him.

Unless I happen to be dating the Bondi Vet. In that instance I’d be snaffling him up off the market toots sweet…

Anyhoo, it’s not a great day weather wise and its getting cold at the club, so we head back to my place for some more wine and to watch a movie. When we get home, he takes his shoes off and I can’t help but notice that they seem like small shoes. Yep, he is definitely only 5’9″ I think at the time, but I refrain from measuring him…

Eventually it is time for him to leave and we don’t really talk about the fact we won’t see each other for a while. Best to leave it on a high note.

We exchange some txts before he leaves and since he has been gone (a bit over a month now) we have been emailing each other every few days. The emails are mostly light and flirty, but he doesn’t have a definite return date as yet. I’m of course not waiting around for him and am continuing to date whilst he is gone, but I would be keen to see him again when (if) he returns – if he is actually even away!

I Met Someone on the Weekend

On Thursday I received a txt message that was rather unexpected. It was an invitation to a singles dinner event for this past weekend. I had long forgotten about this company and unsubscribed from their emails thinking I’d never bother with them again after my first dodgy dinner back in May last year.

I knew my membership was expiring in February, so this would be my last chance to go to an event and try and get some value out of my $500ish membership fee. I had a rare weekend ahead where I wasn’t that busy with uni, so I booked in and headed off on the Saturday night to a Lebanese restaurant to meet some men! 

So the basic premise of these things is that 3 girls and 3 guys turn up at a restaurant asking for a table booked under a certain name and you are then led to the table by a waitress as you obviously have NFI at that point what your fellow diners look like.

When I arrived, I heard the person in front of me ask for our table, so I join them and we are led to a corner booth-like table at the back of the restaurant where the 4 others are already seated. 

Conversation starts and within about 3 minutes I have decided that almost everyone at the table are rather intellectually un-stimulating. Oh crap, this will be a long dinner…. should I fake gastro and go home now?!?

One fellow diner shows some early promise though, but I’m stuck on the complete other side of the table to them.   

We order the banquet and being Lebanese food, I’m paranoid about getting greenery in my teeth well before any food hits the table. Honestly, could there have been a worse first date cuisine choice?!? Parsley, parsley and more parsley. Fuck you tabouli! And far too much communal food touching for my germ-a-phob liking….

Anyhoo as the night progresses I strike up some good conversation with the intelligent one, speaking across the table whilst the others talk about buttons, or something equally complex…

We discover that we are both foodies, don’t have kids, like tragic retro concerts, travel, nice cars. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick!!

We get talking about their business and it turns out that they work in a similar field as me and I want to know more, but then a belly dancer turns up and distracts us from the conversations (particularly the men…)

I sieze this opportunity to head to the bathroom to check that there isn’t a small forrest in my teeth and when I return I casually (yeh right) suggest that we mix up the seating arrangement and I join the intelligent one. 

Not long after, the belly dancer retires and we realise that we have all finished eating, finished our drinks and the buttons conversation has run its course.  We pay the bill and walk out the front of the restaurant to say our goodbyes. 

I fake that it was nice to meet the idiots and we all start talking about where we have parked. Almost everyone is parked down the street, but I’ve parked up the street and the intelligent one says that they too are up that way, so we’ll walk together. Sweeeeeeet….. 

We head off and have a good chuckle debriefing about some of the ridiculous and idiotic comments of the night. We get to my car and it turns out that the intelligent one actually didn’t drive, they caught a cab there but wanted to walk with me to ask me if I wanted to catch up again. 

When you book into these dinners, they tell you that to avoid awkwardness you shouldn’t ask this, or ask for phone numbers etc, but rather tell the organiser on Monday if you want to exchange contact details and if you both say yes, they will facilitate it. Inefficient!

We exchange numbers and discuss maybe catching up next weekend sometime as we are both pretty busy during the week ahead. 

I jump in the car and head home. Not a bad night all in all! 

It’s just a shame the intelligent one was one of the girls….. 

Oh well, one can never have too many Wingwomen right?!?

Inspirational Fitted Sheet Folding

Last night I caught up with some friends for drinks to celebrate Ms K’s birthday. As often happens, I spent a bit of time lamenting on how difficult it is proving to find myself a man.

I was telling my friends about my time on RSVP, Tinder and POF and how all the men I am currently meeting on these sites are boring. Ridiculously boring.

I also told them about a French guy I met on POF last week and because we were both pretty busy this week, we couldn’t catch up before Sunday night (tonight). Throughout the week, Frenchie has been txting me relentlessly. Now, I know that many of my recent posts have been complaining about the lack of contact from men. I guess it’s one of those situations where the grass is always greener, because this guy has been messaging me morning, noon and night. Even if I haven’t yet responded to a txt, he will sent another, then another…

So I was becoming increasingly less interested in this guy as the week progressed and then yesterday he sent me this…


After that, I don’t think I could have mustered up any attraction to this man again. Not if he had a sexy french accent like the gorgeous chef Manu Feildel. Note even if he looked like Channing Tatum.

Yesterday afternoon I called him to suss out if he sounded like a complete weirdo or not, and if he did I would pull the pin on the date tonight. I called, got voicemail and his accent was not sexy. Not one bit sexy. I didn’t leave a message and I haven’t heard back from him, or received my inspirational quote for the day, so I guess he is another one of my dates that has died. At least I’m not too fussed this time.

Back to Ms K’s drinks, at one point we were discussing different ways to fold a fitted sheet with each of us describing how we prefer to do it. It became very clear at that point that I need to get out more… single, highly desirable man is hanging out discussing sheet folding!!

(Although I did have a lovely time catching up with my friends!)