The Butt kick

So there was a time my precious when I couldn’t get a date for love nor money. Separation agreed I still needed to ‘get back out there’ as everyone put it and start the bloody dance of the terrible one liners

But back out where? The dating scene had changed beyond my recognition. I, like most of those who married in their 20s hadn’t dated properly since my university days. Then when I was bored with the current pickings on campus I would simply pick another module on another campus. Please note a major in African Feminist Literature is perhaps not the best degree to finding good dating stock. I should have done what some of the women did and thought ahead. Engineering and Medicine was scattered with women who were there to meet their FuHu’s (Future Husbands) and never intended to work a day after that. So I left uni with a BA degree which included modules in Zoology, Chemistry and French all of which I can’t remember

Back in the last millennium I would just go out to bars with my single friends but I was surrounded by friends who were surrounded by nappies. I had to face facts; after a long relationship I was basically not dating fit. The internet had come and passed me by. I had just about learned how to text properly on my Nokia. Remember them? Yes it was that long ago. My soon to be ex-husband however had somehow managed to keep his techy skills up, mainly through porn so was a whizz at navigating the web. I was staring at a lot of TV nights in. But you know me my precious I’m nothing if not determined. I was not going to let him win. I mean, I needed to ‘get back out there’. But where to start?

Like a good African girl I went to the one place I knew I would get unbiased advice. My father. Bless him he told me to wait my prince would come. Did he not know that a thirty something divorcee was not really the rage? He argued that I was smart and I argued that unless he was willing to pay for a boob job smarts weren’t really selling well on the dating market. So I was left with no other option but to go to my biased advice option. Mama Black. She half listened to my tales of woe tried to convince me that seducing my ex into at least giving us grandkids was still a viable option then dragged me upstairs.

At first I thought this was yet another weight “put down the chocolate” conversation but instead of turning right into the bathroom she took me to the spare room and the computer. There began my dating journey. This woman had accounts to them all. Dating Direct, Loopy Love (where she met a guy who had a thing for women with one leg – that was a short subscription) Meetic, and much much more. Overload. Was I supposed to join them all?

Apparently so. My mum is nothing if not focussed on her goals

1) getting grandchildren she can spoil incessantly and set up against us at whim.

2) reminding me that by the time she was 30 she had 3 kids under 5

3) Getting me a man whose sperm would not embarrass her in her grandma circles. The woman seemed to be able to look at a profile and know whether he was going to ‘shoot cute.’ Many of those with similar interests didn’t make the cute.

I went away and figured that in time I would find the energy to start dating again. I wasn’t ready to shop online for a date. But Mama Black wasn’t having any of it. No sooner had I reached home I had received a cut and paste of a conversation she was having with a younger guy. 42. 2Bit young isn’t he?” I asked her. “NOT FOR ME, FOR YOU!” she shouted back, Bless her she is great on dating sites but caps lock still defeats her  I read through the conversation and she was plugging me to a stranger who wasn’t my type at all. I now realise she did this on purpose to kick me up into action.

So I reluctantly asked my ex to take some semi decent photos of me. He, recognising that this may mean my butt dent was finally going to pop from our couch seized the chance and took great photos. I mean so great that my dodgy write up was ignored and guys just commented on the pictures.

And thus began my dating post marriage tales. Now 5 years later and I regret to admit that I’m a pro. I can write profiles for friends, spot a dud at 4 lines and know that 2 inches should be taken off anything with measurements.

Hmmm, wonder if I have a future career as a dating online Private Investigator?

© Chelsea Black


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