I’m a strong, independent woman and I have standards.
This is the line that one woman at work told me to repeat ten times every morning, when I first re-entered the dating pool after finally accepting that my last relationship was over (more on this later, in a post possibly titled: “If you want to end a 6-year relationship amicably, don’t do what I did”).
I won’t say whether I did ever try out this method (and if so, how many times!), but it did prompt me to consider the question: are standards the modern woman’s cooties?
I don’t know if kids these days still refer to cooties, now that they’re all highly-sexualised thanks to Miley. But when I was in primary school, you could be made a social pariah for touching a disgusting boy.
We became a bit more adventurous when we hit puberty. I blame the hormone-goggles for convincing me that pimply, knobby-kneed Mike from down the road was a sex-god of Casanovan proportions.
The truth is, when I think about the list of men in my past, it’s a veritable who’s-who of the world’s zaniest motley crew. Older, younger, overweight, underweight, colours of the rainbow, rainbow-esque, rich, poor: if I haven’t had at least a fleeting romance with you, I’ve definitely considered it.
Pre-6-year-relationship, I was willing to give different types of men a chance, but why is it that now –being older and wiser, and just a little bit pudgier –I am suddenly considering narrowing down my dating options under the guise of ‘standards’?
My ladyfriends tell me I deserve the best, and that the best looks like Ryan Reynolds, while making money like Bill Gates, and is as nice as Jesus, while also being a little bit of a bad boy like Kanye.
Apparently he also lives in Hamilton, and is waiting for me on Tinder (but you know how I feel about that one).
Trying to find him over the past few months has proven futile, and it seems I may have judged too harshly to impress my friends, and overlooked a few guys in the process, including one because he looked like Bill Gates and made less money than Jesus. #cooties
In an attempt to turn over a new leaf –or at the very least, to give my readers something to be entertained by –I made an important dating decision earlier this month: No. More. Standards.
Well, ok — a few basic standards. Like he can’t be an axe murderer, a serial liar, or using me for on-the-side purposes, because, you know, basic decency/safety/sanity.
Other than that: Bring it on!