The Art of Dating

This is how I feel about dating...(watch Meg Ryan at the end of this clip)

“Happy, smile. Sad, frown. Use the corresponding face for the corresponding emotion.”

Some women were born with the innate ability to bend men to their every whim; they have mystery and sensuality oozing from their pores and their use of tactics and strategy in romance would put seasoned military veterans to shame. I am not one of those women. I obviously missed the class on manipulation and pouting and it seems to have wrecked my entire dating career.

I agree with Meg Ryan. Keep it simple. I spend all day working and schmoozing, trying to impress people and present myself in a certain way and it’s exhausting! So when it comes to relationships, be it friendly or romantic, the word that defines them is: effortless. I can be myself and share a good experience with a kindred spirit.

I can’t speak for the gentlemen out there and I don’t know about you ladies, but I for one have had it. Dating has become a tango across a minefield. First, what to wear: sexy but not slutty, just enough make-up to highlight your features but not so much so it looks you’re trying too hard, same goes for perfume, heels depending on his height and whether he has short-man-complex…then you get to the date and it’s conversation Olympics.

Ask questions, but don’t badger him, laugh at his jokes even if only crickets should be responding, steer clear of any serious topics like marriage or children to avoid him making a man-shaped hole in the wall as he runs for his treasured bachelor life, touch his arm not his hand, make eye contact and smile, but not too much.

And the post-date saga. No-one is supposed to appear to be eager, so no-one calls for a couple of days. Instead we torture each other, watching the phone, checking if it’s working and my personal favourite thanks to facebook and the like, cyber-stalking. And once a week has gone by and you’ve heard nothing, you come to the realization that perhaps he’s not going to call.

I’d like to add a small insert here: I would like for the universe to strike every man who says he will call a woman when he doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t have to be struck dead, just some mild electro-shock therapy to keep him from doing it again. We’re big girls, if you’re not going to call us, just say so or better yet, don’t say anything at all. But the line “I’ll call you” has become synonymous with the notion of an unfulfilled promise and yet it still gives us false hope. A plague upon you cowardly cowardly boys.

So he doesn’t call. My first thought is that he’s died. Of course. It’s the only reasonable explanation for not calling. But thanks to social media you can ascertain that he is, indeed, alive and that he’s not calling by choice. So you throw on your peep-toe stilettos and go back to square one.

Kind friends have tried to help with various suggestions:

Be aloof, play hard to get, no man wants a clingy girl who calls the whole time.

Result: I come across as a cold-hearted bitch who isn’t interested.

Be encouraging and supportive, let him know you’re interested.

Result: I come across as over-eager and desperate.

Just giggle lots and wear a low-cut top.

Result: I yelled at my friend for even suggesting that (though it would have probably worked!)

So I’m done. I am not hard-to-get and I am not desperate. I know what I want and I go for it. Aren’t men always complaining about women not knowing what they want? Well all I see is them running after girls who jerk them around, play games and when they get bored of their toy, toss them aside for new prey. So, on behalf of the simple girls who call it like they see it, I’m sorry if I’ve taken the chase out of it and presented myself on a silver platter. Perhaps the challenge shouldn’t be catching me, but keeping me.

And on that note, here’s the theme song to the film “French Kiss”

Dream a Little Dream by The Beautiful South