PROLOGUE
Being attractive has its ups and downs when it comes to trying to secure
husband. The up is I’ve met loads of
men, loads. Men like me. I don’t
struggle to meet men. The real struggle is meeting a decent one. The downside
to being attractive is believing when one man doesn’t meet my expectations I
can just go out there and meet another man…since I started dating at the age of
19 I’ve always found myself on a quest for a man who is better than the last, a
worthy successor. But does better even exist? It would appear not. I’ve started
to realise at the age of 38 that I should have just settled years ago. That’s
what ugly girls do. The first guy who wants them they cling to. We’ve all
watched The Undateables. Those people aren’t in a position to pick or chose who
they want as life partners. They take what they get. Have you ever seen an
episode in which the facially challenged woman says about her date ‘Oh
no…he’s just not quite my type. I prefer my men with a little less facial hair
and a stronger jaw’. No. That’s because they can’t. Their choices are
limited and they will take what they can get. They will love the man with the
freakishly bulbous eyes and withered hands. Lower expectations and lower
standards. I’ve come to the realisation that I need to lower my expectations
and standards if I want to settle down.
Why didn’t I just make it work with the 5ft 4 man (I’m 5ft 8) with the
gunshot wound in his back (shot in his back during what I presume was a failed
criminal escapade) and the knife scars on his face (and we’re not talking Seal
style cultural scars either). Cutty was the name I gave him for obvious
reasons. You’ll read about him later.
My point is that being attractive
has given me a degree of confidence. Confidence that I can meet someone
else…someone whose back hasn’t been blown out by an AK47 and someone who
doesn’t need to stand on a stool to kiss me. Why should I settle for this
bullshit when I’m certain I am worthy of better?
I often look back and analyse my men and often wonder what the fuck I was
thinking but I don’t regret any of my encounters. I’m sure some of the men regret me and those
who don’t will do after reading this book.
I sincerely hope none of these men try to sue me when they work out it
is actually them I have written about. I hope they understand that these
colourful experiences are worth sharing, if only for comic value alone. I don’t
want to shame any of these men. I enjoyed my time with all of them…even you
Cutty.
The first thing to do, before I start, is put my men in some sort of order.
I realised about 5 years ago that I was losing track of how many men I had
slept it. I knew I’d reached double figures but remembering each individual guy
and was too great a challenge to contemplate. I wish all the men I’ve met left
a lasting legacy in my memory but that would be a lie. Some of the men I slept
with have been so forgettable I may never even ever remember them. So I’ve
started my list, not in order of priority or preference but just as the names
spring to mind:
Andrew- married man. Say no more.
Flavio- exceptionally pretty Brazilian beach boy. I was 33. He was 19. I
really should have paid him for services rendered.
Jonathan - a victim of the recession. Broke was an understatement.
Brian – oh god.
Frank- I actually slept with this one weeks after he’d had a tumour removed
from his brain. Please don’t judge me.
Leon- first love. I was 17 at the
time. I took my pretty friend to his house and behind my back he mouthed to her
‘will you go out with me?’
Sean- Oh god. Huge dick laden with STIs.
Dexter’s friend- I can’t believe I’ve forgotten this guy’s name.
The American guy from the Dalston club – will never remember his name
Mike- the cute young guy I met on POF. We’ve all done it. Please don’t
judge me
Ryan- successful, arrogant and short.
Lee 2- ‘What sugar you been eating baby?’ Don’t ask. Some people just
shouldn’t talk during sex.
So how many is that now? 12. I haven’t had as many men as I thought. 12
isn’t that bad. Oh shit…more have sprung to mind.
Jermaine
Shawn
Gavin
Simon
The white Portuguese guy (the ONLY white guy on my list)
Toni
Troy/Matthew – whatever his name was.
Bobby
Roger
That’s it now. I’m sure. Phew. So 21 it is. Not bad for a woman of my age.
Did I mention I’m 38 by the way?
Oh how could I forget…
Cutty
Robin
Michael
Floyd
Justin
There – that’s it. 26 men
Oh and the guy with the green eyes.
