A singleton life…

Will you be my Mr. D'Arcy?

Number of men solicited for a date: double figures.
Number of dates successfully executed: a big fat zero.
Number of days until the formidable Valentine’s Day: not enough.

This week I have been asking every person of the opposite sex whether they are single, in the hope that I, or one of our blind daters, would have more luck this Valentine’s Day.

Initially, Blind Date promised to be a chance for me and the other single Features team members of The Student to hook up with some eligible bachelor. That was until a startling amount of women applied, which subsequently led to me fiercely searching for willing men, and kicking my dormant dating self into shape.

The number of men I have met in the past week is beyond a sexually frustrated, forty-year-old divorcée’s imagination. Single men have been everywhere. But once I to start to get all  ‘Cilla Black’ on them (trust me, there is such an approach as the ‘Cilla Black’), they start to run for the hills.

Take Simon for instance. A cute, laid-back guy, whom, upon asking the abrupt question: “Are you single?”, replied with “WHAT?!” and a seemly confused expression. Where could I be going wrong?

Well, for starters Cilla Black didn’t need to worry about her forwardness. She was married at the time, and had ‘our Graham’ to fall back on if this went completely pear-shaped; I, alas, have the depressingly obviously Facebook status of ‘single’ glaring me in the face every time I log on. Yet some of these alarmed men, whom I solicited, did take part in the Blind Date feature. (It is rather sadistic idea, but you fellow singletons out there will love it.)

So I guess my prolonged singleness is becoming a backlash against those coupled up in the upcoming romantic festival period. Therefore, I am going to be ‘celebrating’, or commiserating, my singleness on Singles Awareness Day, with the aptly labelled acronym SAD. Fittingly, SAD takes place on February 14th, providing these fat, ugly mutants with an alternative festival, namely a festival that makes fat, ugly mutants feel socially adequate.

Now I wouldn’t necessarily like to openly label myself as a fat, ugly mutant, so here is an alternative list of reasons why you should reject the conventions of Valentine’s Day:

1) One should not define one’s self by their relationships with others. It is called self-love and it’s beautiful. Deal with it.

2) You should have realised by now that Valentine’s Day is purely a commercial holiday. C’mon. You’ve seen the bears, the cards at the door of the newsagent’s and the ‘loved-up’ chocolate, if ever chocolate were loved-up. It sickens me, and it sickens the commies to think that fat cat bankers are cashing in on our sweet romances.

3) According to researchers at the University of Edinburgh, people who are single tend to have busier social lives than couples do. So there.

4) Valentine’s Day is actually named after a Christian martyr called Saint Valentine, and only became related to erotic love in the fourteenth century. So all the atheists out there should quit being hypocrites by celebrating this Christian holiday.

Have I converted you against Valentine’s Day yet? Didn’t think so. I guess even singletons are too much in love with the idea of love. Let the search recommence.

A version of this piece was published in The Edinburgh Student.


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