Where Have All The Boys Gone?

With a recent night out still in my mind, the question most of my single girl-friends have been asking is reinforced. "Where have all the boys gone?" Previously, a night out on the town would consist of a few drinks being consumed, the exchange of smiles between us girls and those around us, and perhaps a little flirtatious chit chat with the guy standing next to us at the bar. He would then of course kindly allow us to be served before him. Nowadays, the smiles become less frequent, the crowd seems predominately female, and I'm still holding a grudge against the rude guy who refused to let me be served first. Knowing that all I wanted were two vodka cranberries, he began to place his order, plus that of all his friends who were standing behind me. With these kind of guys out there, what hope do we have?

It's for this reason that I try not to expect too much in the bachelors that I'm set up with. With low expections, it's harder to be disappointed. Perhaps not the best attitude to have, but it works for me, and it's the attitude I'll take with me on my next date.

I find myself going through a range of feelings before I put myself through one of these 'blind dates'. I get a bit scared because I don't want to make a fool out of myself - something which isn't particularly rare. I get nervous like I would for any date, and then I find myself looking forward to it at times. After all, it's another chance for me to talk about myself - how can that ever be a bad thing? And of course, listen a bit as well. Hopefully more so than last time.

In advance of a date sometime last year, I tried to explain this to a friend - these were the days when I refused to acknowledge my so called outings as dates and was determined they be labelled 'meetings'. I told my friend that I was nervous, yet not at the same time and asked if that made sense. Her response was to explain to me that I was nervous because I was going on a date, and not nervous because it was a meeting. I remember laughing to myself when she emailed me this and her comment still makes me smile.

And so, before I meet the next one later this week, I try not to think about it too much. I ignore the fact that his texts don't always make sense, and instead appreciate the lack of abbreviations used. Some may call me anal (okay, a lot may call me anal), but I'm quite particular with the language used in messages and just don't see why people can't text in proper English. We've decided to meet in town and though I was extremely tempted to ask him whether he drinks, I stopped myself. I don't think my mother would be very pleased with me if that's the reason I gave for not meeting up with him. I guess I'll just have to wait a few days to find out for myself. In the meantime, I've got to try to recall our conversation and remember what he does for a living - perhaps I'll play it by chance and ask him how his job in Accounting or IT is - surely one of those will be close enough...