Mr Good Enough versus Staying Single: I know what I choose

Ladies, listen up and pay attention because what I’m about to say is going to change your life and save you from a potentially miserable existence. If you want to make sure that you definitely get married and have kids by the time you’re 35 (because, let’s face it, that’s what ALL women want, no matter how much we may deny it), then all you have to do is settle. Yes, that’s right – the next time a guy shows interest in you, no matter how much he may bore you or how much the thought of sharing bodily fluids with him repulses you, if overall he seems like an OK guy, then make sure he doesn’t slip away – he may be the only chance you get to live happily ever after before your perky bits head south and you no longer attract any attention. Forget about sexual chemistry, all consuming love and finding someone who inspires you to be a better person. It’s all nonsense, because let’s face it, you’re average and only the 0.01 per cent of people in the world who are impossibly beautiful can attain frivolous things like real love.

This is in a nutshell what author Lori Gottilieb is advising women in her book Marry Him: The Case of Settling for Mr Good Enough. Apparently we’re supposed to forget about passion and having an intense connection with a person if we want to make it down the aisle, because these things are unattainable. Now let me take a deep breath before I continue, as reading the article relating to this in The Times last week (http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/relationships/article7009556.ece) made my blood boil more than it has done since the Tiger Woods debacle.

First of all, why is it everyone thinks that all women are always on the quest for finding ‘the one’? It’s a popular myth that single women are miserable. As someone who has been on her own for most of her adult life, I’m used to the “oh, don’t worry, you will find someone,” comments and the looks of pity I get when I say how long I’ve been single for. At the age of 26 (soon to be 27) I can honestly say I’ve never had what people would call a ‘proper boyfriend’. Now that you’ve all stopped gasping and feeling sorry for me, let me explain why you don’t need to worry: it’s through choice.

For me to actually make an effort with a guy, he has to really stir something in me. First, I have to see him and think wow! He doesn’t have to be conventionally good looking, but there just has to be something about him that makes me stop and catch my breath. Then, he has to be interesting. He has to make me think outside the box and in ways I’ve never thought before. He has to challenge me and make me want to pursue things I’ve never considered pursuing. Thanks to guys I’ve really liked in the past, I was inspired to take up guitar lessons and photography, write poetry, and DJ on a student radio station. Some of them have also forced me to face up to personal issues I’d been ignoring for too long. In short, even though I never had a real relationship with these men, they propelled me forward in some way and made a positive difference to my life. Isn’t that what it’s meant to be about?

Unfortunately nothing ever worked out with any of them. I’m not the best of people when it comes to expressing my feelings with men I like, so in the fight/flight scenario that ensues during the courtship period of a relationship, I always flight, as fighting takes too much effort. Therefore, settling for someone will never be an option for me. I can’t even seem to make the required effort to be with guys I like. I’m just too damn lazy.

Believe it or not, though, I love being on my own and I’m not involved in some active quest to bag Mr Right. I have my studio apartment, my car, my hobbies and an amazing social life that sees me out more nights than in. I also have an amazing family and friends who complete my life in more ways than I thought possible. The thought of having to compromise all this for someone I half like is completely absurd to me. Yes, it would be nice to find a man who meets all the aforementioned criteria, fall in love and settle down, but my point is, unless I find exactly what I’m looking for, then why even bother? And for those of you reading this thinking, wow, she’s in denial -  you’re wrong. This is genuinely how I feel.

Let’s now take a minute to read one excerpt of what this woman said in The Times:

“If you are in denial of this you will make bad decisions and end up single. Whereas if you look at the reality and say: okay, the reality is, as I get older there are going to be fewer available men because people are going to be married; there are going to be fewer available men in my age group because men would like to date someone who is younger and more fertile; there will be fewer available men that I will be interested in because the best guys have already been married. Then maybe you can make an informed choice while you still have time.”

This takes me onto my next point. How exactly is settling for ‘Mr Good Enough’ and getting married better than staying single? If what the media likes us to believe is true and all aging women go through a crisis when they start to attract less male attention and everything starts to sag, how will being married to a guy that you don’t find attractive make you feel better? I thought that the whole point of getting married was so that you end up with someone you are so impossibly in love with, you actually embrace your middle age spread together with the same glint that you had in your eyes for each other when you first met. He will assure you he loves your not-so-perky breasts, while you will coo over his ever expanding waistline. That, I can agree, is something to aspire to. But otherwise, I’d rather stay single and ensure that by the time I’m forty and I start to get wrinkles I’m strong and wise enough to deal with the aging process on my own, rather than have to wake up every morning next to some guy I only married so that I didn’t ‘end up alone’.

Women who want children may argue that it’s easy for me to say in my late twenties that I’d rather be single, as I don’t have the sound of a loud biological cloud to contend with. I must admit, having children never was and still isn’t on my life ‘to do list’ (taking a year out to travel, writing books for a living and having a house by the sea, however, all are). I always say, never say never, as you never know where life is going to take you next, however, I genuinely can say at this point in my life that if I never have children, it won’t be a big deal to me. In keeping with the theme of the article, I still don’t see how advising women who do want children to settle for Mr Good Enough is wise, though.

As someone who comes from a broken home, I know the heart breaking effects troubled marriages have on children. Having to live in a house with parents who don’t like each other much is no fun. I can pretty much guarantee that if you settle for just anyone, eventually you will start to resent this person you’ve agreed to spend your life with. Small fights will become mammoth ones, and all of a sudden you will find yourself trapped in a very messy situation – that to me sounds a lot worse than the other option that is growing old alone. I know there are no guarantees that a marriage will last even when you’re both madly in love with each other, but marriages are hard enough without adding the distinct disadvantage of not liking your husband to it from the start.

So, as I come back down off my soap box, I ask you all to at least think about what I’ve said. If you feel inclined to agree with what Lori Gottlieb is saying, then by all means, go ahead and try out Mr Good Enough. Just don’t expect me not to tell you I told you so.

No second chances

I spent most of 2009 contemplating one question: is there such thing as fate?

I'm not religious, but the idea of some 'higher being' having mapped out a story for each one of us appeals to the romantic side of me (yes, believe it or not, it exists). So, no matter how much you sway away from what is meant for you, somehow fate will bring you right back to it. It will throw up the right opportunities for you and should you mess up the first time you will get a second chance, because, hey, you're meant to go down that path! It's a comforting thought for people like me who spend most of their lives thinking and less of it actually 'doing'. I can choose not to act and still think I will get another chance. Fate will look after me.

I then start to think of all the children starving in Africa, or those living in war torn regions - suddenly my idea of fate doesn't sound too romantic. I don't see when they get their fairy tale ending.

After a whole year of questioning this concept, an incident proved to me that regardless of whether you believe in fate or not, if you're not prepared to act on what you want when an opportunity presents itself to you, then you have to be prepared to acknowledge the fact you may not get a second chance.

It was the most romantic scenario. The type that could inspire a Hollywood screen play. I'd missed my flight to Birmingham, because I got stupidly drunk the night before and slept in. I ran to the airport, but it was too late. I had to admit defeat and catch the next flight. Luckily, even though the next one was fully booked the staff managed to get me a seat.

I went back to the airport six hours later to catch my newly assigned flight and as I was sat at the departure gate, I saw a tall, dark and handsome guy sat opposite me. He looked over, I looked back. We exchanged several glances, I grinned under my fringe.

Boarding time and I was one of the last to get on the plane. As I scoured the seats to figure out where I would be sitting, I saw him straight ahead. I looked down at my ticket - 22I. I looked up at the seat numbers - he was sat in row 22, right next to the seat I was meant to be sitting in. I smiled to myself - these things NEVER usually happen to me. I'm always sat next to people with bad coughs, screaming children and alcoholics. Never the hot guy, though.

I sat down. He made a few jokes. I laughed and blushed a little. A little too good to be true, I thought to myself.

We took off and about an hour into the flight the woman next to me decided to make conversation. When he started chatting, it transpired that he wasn't even meant to be in that seat - the cabin crew had asked him to move. So not only was I not meant to be on that flight, he was not meant to be in that seat.

The woman on my right turned out to be a racist git, who made an inappropriate comment and stopped our conversation in its path. None of us spoke again until we landed. He offered to get my bag down from the hold and I accepted. I saw him again in the luggage hall, we exchanged a few more glances, then he disappeared through the 'nothing to declare' door at Birmingham Airport. Inside my heart was screaming 'do something,' but my head told me to just let it go. I took the easy option.

So, was it fate? Well, you would think so. I wasn't meant to be on the plane, he wasn't meant to be in the seat. Yet, I did nothing about it. I didn't even find his name out. And as a consequence, I will probably never see him again. He doesn't even live in Dubai - he lives in Doha. This dwindles the chances of meeting again down to virtually none.

So I begin 2010 with a new philosophy. I've forgotten about fate and I vow to act more on impulse. Magic doesn't just happen - you have to make it happen for you. Had I acted on flight EK to Birmingham, perhaps this story would have had a Hollywood ending. But I didn't. And I probably won't get that second chance.

A City On Heat

I’ve only been here on and off for about a year, but one of the things that struck me very early on is how much more, well, forward men are.

In any one given night out, the average Dubai gal will pick up numerous business cards, telephone numbers, stalkers and propositions for a bit of hot loving in the desert, on a camel, or under Garhoud Bridge. The amount of times I’ve opened my purse in the morning to find various business cards flying out at me are uncountable. Ahmed, Mohammed, James, Thierry, Justin etc etc. And yes, most of the time I’m sat asking Ahmed? Ahmed who?!

Now, this isn’t an excuse for me to sit and boast about my admirers (trust me, some of them are nothing to boast about). ANY girl living in Dubai (single, or otherwise-makes no difference even if you’re wearing a wedding ring) will find the same thing. The guys are persistent, pushy and will stop at nothing to get a chance with you. A combination of the fact that men outnumber women by about 3 to 1, desert heat, and ex-pat loneliness seem to send men wild out here. (well, more wild than normal)

One particular French guy that I met in Boudoir one night stands out in my mind. About five minutes before leaving the bar, I got talking to him through my free cocktail haze. We exchanged numbers, and I left.

Half an hour later, I already had a missed call from the guy. I ignored it, I was too busy dancing. The next day I woke up to three missed calls and a text message ‘Good morning beautiful’. At this stage I couldn’t even remember what the guy looked like, let alone anything else.

He persistently text every day for about a week asking what I was up to. By the seventh day I caved and sent a message back apologising, that I’d been really busy and maybe we could arrange something in the future. My bad, I know, but I hate being impolite!

About a week later I got a rather annoyed text from him. It was something along the lines of ‘hello Miss I’m so overbooked all the time, guessing you’re too important to meet me’. Now I don’t have many experiences with French guys, so I don’t know whether they think being ignored is a good thing. Brits tend to get the hint when they are ignored…well Brits living in Britain that is. It seems that once guys pass Dubai immigration, their crotch area takes over even more brain capacity than normal.

It took him two months to stop contacting me. I’d only been in touch once.

Another French guy could not take the fact that I didn’t want to meet him, so decided that it was my friend’s fault and began texting me insults about her. What a way to try and win me over!

We’ve been in all sorts of crazy situations. Guys chasing after us in cars, guys following us down the street, and even guys trying to follow us into our apartments.
There’s been Matrix guy, French guy, French guy number 2 (even more of an ass), Egyptian guy (who somehow found my work number and thought it would be a good idea to ring me there), Shisha guy(s), Local Hottie, Local Attire guy…The list is endless.

All in all, I find it quite amusing. But it’s hard for a gal like me who isn’t a subscriber to the ‘Fast Love’ plan to separate the players from the bigger players. For now, I guess I will just sit back and observe the fun until one of the normal ones gets off a plane.

Maybe my best bet is to go and snatch one before immigration?