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No new balls, please

December 10, 2009

Stop all the cocks, cut off the telephone (not that it was ringing, to be fair)
Prevent this bitch from going barking about wanting a bone
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Let me finally relax about the size of my bum.

Yup, that’s it, folks – I’m off men. I’ve given up. I’ve resigned. I am hopeless at them, I choose awful ones, I’ve had enough. I’m full.

I realised last week that the past 12 years of my life has been defined by men. Who I fancied, who I dated, who I bonked, who I didn’t bonk, who I married. During this period, Earth has undergone some of its worst ever tragedies (the Tsunami, 9/11, Big Brother) and what have I been doing? Reading Mars and Venus.

I’m not going to pretend I can park anymore, or wear stockings, or buy Stella. If I need any jobs doing round the house, I’ll just sell it and move somewhere else.

Well, no more. No more will I care about what men think about me. No longer will I do my make-up before I go to the supermarket just in case a man might see me. Never, ever again will I ask friends, my Mum or PsychicInteractive “What did [man name] mean when he said that?” From now on, I don’t care.

From now on, I will fill my life with my things. Nice, happy, womanly things, like Vogue, cake-decorating equipment, watercolour lessons, one of those JML blankets with sleeves in a burgundy shade, air-freshening candles, Muller Lite, slippers, Dairylea (always), synchronised swimming (maybe), lager and lime, and Cadbury Flakes. I might even buy a calendar with puppies on. Or firemen. Or ideally, puppies and firemen.

I’m not going to pretend I can park anymore, or wear stockings, or buy Stella. If I need any jobs doing round the house, I’ll just sell it and move somewhere else.

I just can’t be doing with the amount of mental headspace that men take up in my life. So I’m flying solo from now on.

And yes, the fact that tihs is precisely the best attitude with which to attract a new man hasn’t escaped me. So shut it.

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