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...

First Crush

I rushed out of the office last week, making a quick trip to the ladies and spending no more than a second looking at my reflection in the mirror. A trip to a friend's house had been arranged for the evening so I was eager to start my journey home as soon as possible.

As I reached the platform, I jumped onto the train that was being held at the station. It wasn't until the next stop that I realised it wasn't a direct train home, and I would have to make a small change towards the end of my journey.

30 minutes later, I walked over to to the opposite platform and squinted at the digital display. 4 minutes. Once I'd stopped squinting (something my optician friends will probably pick on when reading this), I noticed a guy smile and move towards me. It took me a second or two to realise who he was and when it hit me, I instantly wished I'd spent a bit longer checking my reflection. He was my first crush. He was the guy whose name would appear in the pink hearts on my work books, who made coming into school that little bit more exciting, the guy whose birthday party I somehow managed to forget one year and spent the rest of the day sulking.

My memory can be a bit fish-like at times, but there are somethings that I don't think I'll ever forget. I still remember the day he retrieved my stolen pencil case for me - going against the boy code and snitching on the thief when he saw how upset I was. And the time he asked on my behalf if I could get a glass of water when I had the hiccups in class. It's ironic that a 10 year old is more attentive than the majority of the guys that I've 'dated'.

We've seen each other a few times since our school days - a class reunion, mutual friend's birthday drinks, and a spontaneous group dinner last year - so we're not complete strangers, nor are we the best of friends. I do sometimes wonder if he remembers an online conversation we had a few years ago - a conversation in which we made one of those pacts and agreed to marry if we're still single at 30. He probably doesn't remember, and I doubt I would ever mention it to him. Even if he did, and with less than five years to go, neither of us would actually follow through..I don't think..!

I returned his smile and said hi as he walked towards me. We spent the 4 minutes talking about work, old friends and life in general and as the train approached the platform, I noticed how busy each carriage was. When the doors opened, we joined those struggling to get on and as we were forced to stand close together, I become extremely self concious about my unkempt eyebrows and hoped this morning's perfume was as long lasting as the advert promised. He looked good. Perhaps more so than I remember, and I liked that we could instantly pick up where we left off - there was no need for small talk and definitely no mention of how the weather had been holding up recently. Unfortunately, the journey was quite a short one, but this time when I got off the tube, I took my time and we agreed to organise another group drinks. The brief trip down memory lane was a nice way to end a less than interesting day in the office.

As I walked home from the station, I smiled to myself and thought that the 10 year old me would be quite happy too. I then got my mobile out of my bag and made a phone call to my beautician - next time me and my eyebrows will be prepared!

A Date in the City

When my dad started playing match maker, I wasn't sure whether I should be worried or pleased that he was taking an interest in my love life. Either way, perhaps it would've been wise not to agree to meet his colleague's son - for if I was wise, I would've saved myself from an extremely difficult date.

We spoke one Friday night - a conversation which I was purely dominating. Not particularly by choice (though I am known to have more than my fair share of talk time), but to avoid those awkward silences that dared to arise. After he mentioned for the second time that he was quite tired, I cut the conversation short and we ended the call without any mention of speaking again. I was quite surprised when he text a few days later asking about my weekend - I didn't think he would.

A handful of texts and a week later, we decided to meet in his part of the city - an area which I wasn't familiar with and so was happy for him to arrange the venue for our 'date'. We met outside the tube station and I noticed that he was perhaps one of the better looking guys that I had been set up with. I assumed he would take lead and suggest a place, however he asked me where I wanted to go. I told him that I didn't know the area well and was happy to go for a drink or coffee wherever he thought best. Turns out that he didn't even know which direction to walk in - something which surprised me as I thought he would've had some sort of plan or idea where we could go. Definitely a bit of a turn off.

We settled for a small cafe where I ordered a cranberry juice - though much needed, luckily I chose not to ask for the vodka, as it wasn't until half way through our date, that he mentioned he doesn't drink. Not that I'm an alcoholic or big drinker (anymore!), but I'm definitely one who likes to enjoy a social drink or two every now and again. I have to admit, to be with someone who doesn't drink, even a little bit, would be a little weird for me.

He ordered a coke and some fries, which he later doused in tomato ketchup and picked at whilst making his way through seven or eight napkins, making more a mess than my six year old niece.
The conversation between us just didn't flow and I found it extremely tough to make small talk which wasn't weather related. We spoke about mostly work and holidays, however with no intention to be rude, just honest, I would say I found the evening as difficult as having a conversation with a brick. As the waitress asked us if we wanted another round of (soft) drinks, I declined and we settled the bill. Unfortunately the most awkward part of the night was not over - we still had to get through an eight stop tube journey together. For once in my life, I was extremely grateful for the noisiness of the Jubilee line which gave us a reason not to attempt to speak. As we sat there in silence, I felt my foot being (accidentally) kicked by the guy taking his seat opposite me. I didn't feel guilty at all when I returned his dimpled smile and paid more attention to him than my reticent date. When my stop finally arrived, I thanked him for the drink and stepped onto the platform as fast as my heels would allow.

It's been a little over a week since our little meeting and neither of us have made any attempt to make contact - something for which I'm truly grateful for! As much as I may enjoy hearing myself speak, it's not as satisfying when the other person has no interest in reciprocating.

Trials of a Singleton

People often ask me whether I have to have an arranged marriage and my immediate response is always an exasperated "No!". But when I spent some time thinking about this one morning, I realised that the criteria for what would be perceived as a 'suitable match' has been drummed into my head so much that I, myself, have started to believe that this is the 'right way'. As much as I may want to resist, I find myself with a mental check list every time I meet a guy and wonder whether he ticks all the boxes. Boxes which part of me feels as though I've been brain washed to recognise as acceptable.

As a young 25 year old, I'm constantly being told that I should be looking for a husband and aim to be married - something which is seen as bizarre in today's Western world. Don't get me wrong, I do want to find what someone would call a 'soul mate' or 'Mr. Right', get married and have kids, but the pressure that is put on twenty something's really doesn't help living life as a singleton.

I don't think people quite understand how difficult it is to be in this position. My mum and numerous aunts (most of who have had an arranged marriage themselves) keep telling me that I shouldn't be picky, that love will grow in time and I just need to let it. Perhaps that was okay for them in their day and age, but I don't believe, nor do I want to believe, that that's how it works. I admit, I'm an old romantic and I've always longed for that destined meeting where violins play and fireworks explode. Realistically, I know this seldom happens, but I know that I won't settle for anything less than those butterflies.

I guess the million dollar question now is "How am I going to find this guy who gives me butterflies and fireworks?" I wish I knew! I would imagine that living in a large metropolitan city wouldn't make this too difficult, but in reality it actually is. I work in the city and with over 2.5 million people using the underground every day, you would think that was a perfect opportunity to spot that special someone. Even if you did see someone that caught your eye, realistically, what could you do. There's no bar where you're both 'conveniently' stood next to each other, waiting to be served, or trip to the ladies where you can 'accidentally' brush past him. Take for example, one Friday morning. I'm waiting on the station platform and see a good looking guy to my left. As the tube arrives and we get on, we find ourselves sitting opposite each other. Whilst we both listen to our iPods, him tapping his feet and me drumming my hands to the music, he looks at me. I look up and he turns away. Similar behaviour continues for a while; quick glances here and there, but never meeting eye to eye. That is until we arrive at Oxford Circus and he gets off the tube, a quick look behind as he steps down. I'm embarrassed to say that was in fact the highlight of my week. To this day, I've never seen him again.

So with not much luck finding my own Prince Charming, the alternative is going through what me and my friends call 'The System'. The System is where all the aunties and uncles get out their own little black books which are filled with details of nice chokras and chokris that they're dying to set up. Basic details of both the girl and the boy, for example. age, date of birth, height, education etc are exchanged between elders in the family and phone numbers are passed on. In theory, this definitely has its advantages. It cuts out the awkwardness of asking for someone's number and instead an eligible bachelor's number is handed to you on a silver plate. Going through The System means that I already know the guy is 'suitable' on paper. Now it's just a matter of attraction, compatibility and luck!

It wasn't until I felt as though I'd run out of excuses that I agreed to try this way. I was doing quite well putting it off intially. The first time my mum mentioned introducing me to someone, I was still at university so there was an excuse right there. It wasn't until I'd graduated, had settled into a new job and was entering my mid twenties that I finally agreed to be introduced to that 'nice chokra' that some aunt somewhere or another knew. A first date in itself is quite nerve-racking, but to go on a date with someone you know very little about, you've never seen, and you've spoken to for all of 5 minutes, is a little terrifying.

The first 'blind date' I went on was...interesting. My intial reaction was one of disappointment. I think the idealist in me had pictured a true Bollywood style meeting - Girl meets Boy, Boy is mesmerised with Girl and declares his love for her in song, after which they live happily ever after (overcoming the interfering mother in law and defeating a love rival or two in the process). But life isn't a Bollywood film and there definitely wasn't going to be any singing or dancing on this date. We went for coffee - always a safe bet as there's no decision to be made about whether it would be okay or frowned upon to have an alcoholic drink. I have to admit, it's difficult to know what the protocol is - Do I offer to pay, should I admit that this is the first time I'm meeting someone in this way, am I okay to just be me? I think when I knew there defintitely wasn't going to be a second date, I relaxed a little. He paid for the drinks, I admitted it was the first time I was meeting someone in this way and I was just 'me'. I do however, think he wanted me to pay him back for the coffee! Needless to say the date ended short and I could be found a couple of hours later gossiping with a friend to discuss the finer details.

I'd put the date down as an experience and moved on, however he contacted me a couple of days later. It's at this point that I wondered whether it would be best to ignore the text, send a detached one instead, or reply with one of those 'it was nice meeting you, but I don't think we're quite right for each other' messages. I opted for the second - I thought it would be quite rude to ignore him and the thanks, but not thanks text would've seemed a bit inappropriate - he'd only asked me how work was, not given me a marriage proposal! His texts continued for a while and I have to admit that I did ignore the last one. From memory, it wasn't one that needed a reply and my offhand responses most likely showed I was uninterested.

Some of the dates that followed ended in a similar way and some went well but there was no spark. Through each one, I did learn a little something about myself and at least I have a better idea of what I'm looking for in a parther, and what I'm not. I have to admit, I still struggle to understand the opposite sex and I'd be keen to meet someone who does!

At the moment, it's been just over a year now since I've started dating through this method, and I still haven't found Mr Right. I don't quite remember how many blind dates I've been on - more than five, less than ten perhaps. I wouldn't say they've all been disasters, and perhaps I am being too picky like my mother suggests. All I know is that I won't settle for anything less than perfect...I just have to figure out how to find him!