All You Can Eat

Something that you often hear, after yet another lucky escape, is "never mind you have to kiss a lot of frogs", and that somehow this winnowing process brings you closer and closer to the Holy Grail of Chaps, somewhere in your and his future.  Yes, right now he is sitting somewhere with a coffee, reading the Guardian and picking his nose, completely unaware that I'm on my way.

But what if kissing frogs is just kissing frogs.  You may well end up with a pile of discarded amphibians behind you and yet another pile in front.  Just more and more and more frogs.  A endless frog buffet.  To use another analogy, you're sorting through that haystack looking for the needle and at some point you realise it's just hay. 

It's not as if I deliberately choose men who aren't really interested - there isn't a separate bunch who are camping on my doorstep and bringing me frites in the middle of the night and begging me to go to Oostende with them, that I am studiously ignoring.

I think I've said this before, but I'm fine on my own.  I like my own company a lot and find it necessary for recharging, and I've never thought that having a boyfriend would complete me.  I'm fairly complete, apart from a few bits which I suspect are down the back of the sofa.

But, like most people, I want to be loved, and to give love.  And to have someone kind and a bit filthy to have a good laugh with, who will think I'm great.