The Four Man Method - yet more dating disaster stories

Dating.  It’s not an activity I thought I would have to endure in my 40s, whilst in the midst of trying to raise the next generation of men myself.  

I’m not proving to be very good at it.

I was always much better being a one man girl, so the modern approach of dating several prospects simultaneously seems a sure fire recipe for guaranteeing that you are about to get yourself a ‘reputatation’.  And not one of being a pillar of the community.

If, like me, you become obsessed with the romantic activities of celebrity single mums, you might be fooled into thinking that bagging a new man following a relationship implosion is a piece of cake.  I’m surprised I have any molars left and haven’t ground them into stubs, when being subjected to tabloid images of my celebrity peers, holding hands blissfully with their new beau's.  Like it really is that simple.  

Yes, I’m talking about you Halle.  The front door had barely shut on Gabriel’s behind and there you were, gazing blissfully at Oliver Martinez.  Not fair.  Elizabeth Hurley, you’re no better, getting instantly bowled over by that hunky cricketer bloke.  And don’t even get me started on Rachel Weiz, who found consolation in the arms of Daniel Craig no less, when her marriage fell apart.  There are others.  Many others.  Including a plethora of Kates (Hudson, Price, Winslet) and the elfin Anna Friel.  

So this is how I spend my days.  Spitting toast at the source of the latest celebrity single mum’s love tryst in agitation (then grinding my molars into stubs with - let’s face it - raw envy).  And my reaction is always the same....This is Not Real Life!  

At least, it’s not my real life. 

More’s the pity.

Not that there hasn’t been some small flurries of potential romantic activity in my life over the past few months.  

Here’s a brief run down:

Mr eHarmony

The only man I met up with, following a knee jerk 3 month stint on eHarmony (the membership of which is now cancelled - FOREVER).  Now, this is a guy who knows how to treat a lay-dee.  He took me out to dinner, to the theatre and even to Ladies Day at Ascot.  He was well travelled, well read, engaging, thoughtful and had a good sense of humour.  On paper he ticked boxes, and lots of them.  In real life, there was just no sexual chemistry (well on my part at least).  I tried to muster up the enthusiasm for a good ol’ tongue thrashing snog, because God knows I could do with the practice, but even two powerful Mojitos and half a bottle of Chablis couldn’t get that party started.  

We’re now just friends.

Italian Stallion

This tall sexy hunk has been swinging me around the dance floor for weeks, while I practice my Ceroc moves and try to out-Britney Ms Spears.  I have to admit, I’m a little bit shameless when I am dancing.  I don’t set out to be - but the right music can trigger an almost Pavlov response in my celibate pelvis, which starts wiggling and jiggling with blatant abandon.  Most men regard me with abject fear in their eyes - but the Italian Stallion has no such fears.  “I am tempted by you”, he tells me seductively, in his wildly attractive Italian accent on the dance floor, and then later, over pizza.  

I was a little bit tempted, I’ll confess.  I’m only human.  These nether regions were never intended for a nunnery.  

But I’m taking a pass.  It’s only going to be a shag at the end of the day - and that’s just not what I am looking for.  It’s not going to stop me dancing like a wanton freak with him on a Tuesday night tho...after all, I am only human.

Sexy Single Dad

It doesn’t seem very politically correct to be scouring the playground for potentially available men, but in the single mum world it’s best to leave no stone unturned. One of the dads in Johnny Drama’s class caught my eye.  Nice looking, great smile.  A little bit of a Harry Hill Lookee-likee. I have never seen such a perfectly spherical head.  It was a happy day when I found out he was a single dad.  A slightly less happy day when he dropped into conversation that he had a girlfriend.  Drats.  

Anyway, all is not lost.  I now have a new buddy to coordinate the odd weekend play date with and that really is a bonus.

The Tall American

On my last night in Chicago in April I bumped into The Tall American and had that kind of swoony experience which doesn’t happen very often.  That tantalising combination of instant attraction and sexual chemistry, accompanied by an intuitive sense that you’ve met before.  I knew it was pointless and there could be no future in it, but I was smitten.  After a 15 minute conversation and no snogging action whatsoever, I was hooked.  

I then found out, following a succession of emails and even a couple of phone calls, TTA is dad to two children and that his wife was tragically killed last summer.  How heartbreaking is that?  It sent me into a bit of a tailspin and I couldn’t get him or his children out of my mind.  To me, there really can be no worse case scenario.  The thought of my own boys growing up, without me there screwing them up every step of the way, is unimaginable.  I ached for her and for their children.  

Not that I got to tell him that.  It appears that TTA has unwittingly got trapped under something very heavy and I haven’t heard from him for weeks.  There could be any number of reasons.  I tell myself that it’s definitely better this way.  Far less complicated all round.  After all, I didn’t really want to even contemplate moving back to Chicago again, did I?  No, I did not.  

Such a lovely man.  I hope he finds happiness again.  

Such a shame I didn’t get at least a kiss out of him, all the same.