Once upon a time in a land far, far away there was a girl, looking for her Prince Charming. She didn’t search for the “perfect man” he just sorted of kicked his way towards her. She lived life to the full away from the confines of the protective Mothership, discovering the meaning of life, lectures and Jagerbombs. In this whizz of student life, she managed to bump into the potential love of her life… Little did she know, 7 years later she’d be highly depressed, dancing until 4am doing shots of Tequila with her best friends & some of the city’s strangest people. Oh how things change.
It went as fairytales tend to, fine and dandy and distinctively lovely with public displays of affection that would make passers-by vomit. There were ‘holidays’ (the furthest venture was to France via coach as Prince Charming couldn’t quite deal with being in the air… This is what they don’t tell you about Princes in storybooks), living together, arguments rarely, body weight eating of ice cream and generally plodding along quite nicely. Then came the 7 year itch.
Now this I always thought was just the fabulous film starring Marilyn Monroe but those who have experienced it will know, it does not involve Marilyn Monroe and it is not at all fabulous.
According to the Oracle that is Wikipedia, “The seven-year itch is a psychological term that suggests that happiness in a relationship declines after around year seven of a marriage. The phrase originated as a name for irritating and contagious skin complaints of a long duration.” Fabulous it isn’t, irritating it became.
Eventually, the terms ‘love of your life’, ‘The One’ and ‘Prince Charming’ went out the window into the vast terrifying existence that is reality and an ‘achey breaky heart’. Anyone who’s been to ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ will be aware that drowning yourself in tears and increasing your alcohol consumption makes the end of the world a very sad and hungover place. Not a place you wish to stay at for long. No home comforts, no affectionate drunken phone calls telling you that you’ve probably got the best bottom in the world and no waking up next to someone who looks as dishevelled and unhappy to be awake as you do.
So after being sat on by ‘The Black Dog’ (of depression) for various weeks, being miserable, thinking that I’d be alone forever and no one would want to see the horror that is me first thing on a morning, I decided I’d had enough. After a late night/early morning drinking session with the best friend Fashionista, I was badgered into entering the very scary world of online dating. Said Fashionista (we’ll call her Pixie), was telling me about how online dating was the new way of meeting people and potentially a way of finding ‘your man’. I feel we were pinning a lot of hope on this but as an impulsive person who didn’t want to get fat and miserable, I took her advice and signed up…to that and a running club…
There begins the tale of online dating…