Married men – like moths to the light

Suraka Silk Moth (Antherina suraka) flying around light bulb, Madagascar

that really needed to be: light at the end of the tunnel. which is a train. on a course to unravel the world. but my ‘shop skeeellz aren’t that good

i should be sleeping. last week ended on a note that sounds like trouble for a monday morning. but i have some thoughts.

a few months ago AB and i were sitting at house of machines, sucking up G&Ts (probably the best in the mother city btw) and discussing the state of our wordy lives (awesome) and sex lives (not so awesome).

AB is about ten years younger than me (i think. i’ve come to understand that i’m the opposite of an agist, whatever that is, so in my brain her age is irrelevant. however…), confirming the oft times dismal state of cape town’s dating pool, regardless of age. so possibly it’s a type thing. both AB and i can be considered a little left of centre.

nevertheless.

AB: You know what the problem is?
Me: What? Apart from the unfortunate state of that man’s tats?
AB: (looking over at a pop-eye with a sailor problem) Yeah apart from that.
Me: What?
AB: Of the top five people I could fuck right now? like, they’d be available…
Me: Yeah…like call up and have sex with right now?
AB: Yeah
Me: ok?
AB: three of them are married or have steady girlfriends
Me: urgh. rough… wait.
AB:  What?
Me: ditto.

#URGH

one of the funniest things a man ever said to me, to assure me that he had only the best intentions if we met for coffee, was that he was married.

i rolled my eyes so fucking hard at that. honey. are you fucking KIDDING ME? that is EVERY GODDAMN REASON TO RED FLAG YOU.

still. they’ve become useful as flirty NSA emo trampolines.

do you remember the VUP? the very unavailable person? well he was married (can’t remember if i actually ever explained that). we conducted, i suppose, what would be considered a brief, but intense, emo affair. we shared a fairly hot kiss, but nothing more. quit it when i realised it had reached crazy proportions in my brain. but it certainly helped to redirect all the thought energy i was spending on mr hardman post break-up.

and now, since the unfortunate reality check that my revived conversation with the beard has delivered, i have any number of emo trampolines and … you guessed it … they are all married/girlfriended.

for my actual physical trampoline bounce? there is the lovely lover in an open relationship. or at least was. he was supposed to be my small inland sea remember? well, sadly his gf changed her mind about their arrangement and now i’m not very likely to see him again. (side note for people in open relationships: don’t sleep over if you haven’t specifically arranged that with your primary partner…)

Crushing on someone else is helping me to work my way through the sweet fog of nostalgia

nevertheless. is crushing on an unavailable trampoline man helping me bounce my way through the sweet fog of nostalgia to the nirvana of Over It Land? sure is. kinda. maybe. i’ll let you know in a month or so.

am i protected from getting overly involved and therefore safe from hurt cos i know nothing really real can happen while they’re involved with someone else? sure. kinda. maybe. i’ll let you know in a month or so.

anyway. point is. none of this attention from married/hooked-up men generally needs to be found. in my experience, it comes to the single woman easily, without fuss or effort. so easily that Lady Lou, who gets a lot of married man action, has lost faith in humanity and love. basically.

and, keep your panties on, there are enough married (not so much, i think, ‘just’ girl-friended) women who are play-play-playing outside of captivity, as the saying goes. they don’t hit on me (WHY THE HELL NOT HUH?), but they are telling me their stories. and lord, if husbands only woke up enough to know what their wives were up to a lot of the time…

makes me wonder why there are so many unhappily married, not-being-honest-with-their-partner folk around. i mean, i know why in the sense that i know what reasons they give me*. but i wonder how much better it would be if people would be more willing to explore some real honesty about themselves, their partners and their relationship model.

* le sigh. i’ll write more about this later. now i need to sleep for about 15 hours.

 

Coupling yourself and your honey to social media

Wearing your heart on your virtual social media sleeve is on the rise. Dorothy recommends that less is more … 

relfies

I wasn’t going to say anything. I was just going to let it all slide like a lubed-up Teletubby down a waterslide. But #relfies have just tipped me right over the OFFS ledge.

Never heard of a #relfie? It’s the ring finger selfie you take when your man proposes. And please don’t be posting any old crap up under the hashtag – your hands better be looking like they were manicured by angels and washed in the fountain of youth.

XOJane reports that surgeons in the US are getting requests for ‘hand lifts’ so that women don’t have to be shy about showing off their ugly wrinkled hands.All you need is love and shit-ton of cash. There’s a reason ‘relfie’ sounds like you just horped.

I’ve been watching this slow avalanche of brag posting ever since relationship status updates became a thing with Facebook. Maybe it’s the modern-day equivalent of shouting your love from the rooftop, except now crazy has taken it to the next level, shouting ‘love, sex, engagements, weddings’ louder, bigger and brighter than everyone else.

Your hands better be looking like they were manicured by angels and washed in the fountain of youth

Like the #aftersex selfie. Or my personal favourite: People who set up joint couple Twitter accounts or adopt a wedding Twitter hashtag. It just feels less like a celebration and more like constant approval seeking, or comparison monitoring. A kind of focus on attention from everywhere and everyone but the people who matter most: the two (or three or four) people actually in the relationship.

When I see those heavily engaged in proclaiming their togetherness foreverness with their partners/relationship/rings/wedding dresses/status updates (or just the random in the #aftersex selfie who may or may not know they’ve been tagged), I can’t help but wonder if the poster is aware that there are real people involved in their one-man show. I know there’s a risk of sounding like a bitter old love Grinch but those near and dear to me will testify to the fact that I can be as starry-eyed as the next Disney princess.

It’s not diamonds that are forever, honey, it’s social media

But good heavens, boundaries people. Boun. Da. Ries. All the world might be your stage but what happens when one of the cast members want to leave? It’s not diamonds that are forever, honey, it’s social media. Ask anyone who has tried to extricate themselves from years’ worth of ‘us’ postings they never posted. Why do you think I’ve never named the people I write about?

I don’t know about you, but in these parts there seems to be a rash of one-year marriages that flare down the aisle, hashtags and IG ablaze, with all the grace of a Boswell Wilkie Circus only to spontaneously combust a months down the line when the party’s over and the hashtags have been taken over by pornbots. Who are we making the movie of our lives for?

Look, maybe that’s just part of being human – the desire to be seen. But shouldn’t we be a little more careful when we move our hearts from sleeves and onto the screen?

This column first appeared on Women24…