Confessions of a Singleton

*Disclaimer: The following stories are not necessarily the authors' own experiences, but derived through 1st hand accounts of friends who weren't afraid to spill the beans on the good, bad and the ugly quirks of their Exes*

I daresay I speak for the majority of single ladies out there, when I say it’s hard to find a good man nowadays. Impossible, is more like it. A good man, who can fulfil the qualities of the Top Ten wish list of any single woman, is a rarity in this world of ours.

The ‘One’ refers to the lucky chosen one who we bring home to the parents and flaunt to the girlfriends proudly, as a silent declaration of victory, to prove that the quest of finding the right man is finally over.

Most importantly, The One, would be dragged to all the family functions to silence the aggravating relatives whose main remaining mission in life is to see every one of their single family members experience the joys [or woes] of matrimony.

I am sure I’m not the only one who has the unfortunate luck to be related to aunties who are forever asking, “So how much longer before we see you walking down the aisle?" You are too fussy!”

I now avoid family functions like the ebola plague, providing pitiful excuses like having last minute work to do and having caught unheard of diseases.

Back to finding a good man. So far I haven’t succeeded. Nor have my single girlfriends. Every other guy we’ve encountered, has had personality defects. Perhaps quirks is a kinder way of putting it. We are not searching for the perfect man or prince charming, as we are fully aware that such men exist only in romance novels and fairytales. However, my girlfriends and I have had our share of disaster dates that could go down well in the Hall of Fame.

The first guy who ever asked me out was marriage-obsessed. This guy must have been sick of being the best man and attended too many weddings, [or maybe he had the same suffocating, nosey aunties as me]. On the second date, the conversation had already turned to commitment related topics such as soul mates, marriage and white picket fences. He spoke with his eyes half closed, dreamily looking into mine, wanting to know if I thought the chemistry was there and if I could see myself being with him 5 years from now. It was right out of a page of a Mills & Boon romance novel. Except I was coming nowhere close to swooning and his skinny frame was neither tall, dark or handsome. Nor did he look like he had any strength to slay off any dragons [or aunties] for me. Clearly, the man must have seen unborn children in my eyes, while I, on the other hand, could only see his dilated brown pupils.

This guy was a hopeless romantic. Phone calls would drag on unbearably until 2 in the morning. While he thought he was serenading me with his guitar over the phone lines, the boy was actually serenading me off to sleep. There was no typical gushing over the phone lines saying, “No darling, you hang up first”, here. I would fall asleep, thanks to him, with the phone under my pillow. Needless to say, the next day, I would show up to work with dark circles under my eyes, grunting “good mornings” to shocked workmates, while resembling a grumpy panda, minus the body weight and fur. Since I wasn’t in a rush to get married, I decided I still needed my 8 hours of sleep and that no prospective man was worth having wrinkles and panda eyes for.

Then there was the shy guy. It was his pushy sister-in-law, who fancied herself a matchmaker, who got us together. Sadly enough, it was not a match made in heaven but more of from the prison cells. Our first outing, was lunch with him, his brother and sister-in-law as chaperones.

That’s right. Chaperones.

I felt like a 15-year-old aristocratic teenager out of the 18th century, except minus the blooming gown, fan and lace parasol. It was like having a date in a library with a prisoner and his two parole officers. Conversation was hardly flowing with the two investigators present. The sister-in-law was gigglier than I was.

The disaster dates aside, I found it disturbing that he hadn’t grown out of his teenage mood swings. I would ask what his problem was and why he was moody. Was it work? Family? Money? Nope. It was “nothing”, he said. It was like dating a one word man. I’ve had better conversations with the telephone operator.

Instead of talking about what is bothering him, he would hide himself away in his room until he was ready to face civilization again. Who knows what was lurking beneath his calm exterior. I wasn’t prepared to stick around and find out. The silence was killing the ‘relationship’ and my sanity has no price tag.

The next gentlemen to come along was the complete opposite of the previous Mr Strong and Silent type. In fact, it was a relief to meet a terrific conversationalist and there was never a dull moment. Then, I got to hear stories of how his brother was on medication. Shortly after that, I began to notice a slight twitch in his left eye that I somehow must have missed before.

Bad genes? I decided not to risk it.

Later on, I ventured out with someone who seemed normal at first and with a keen eye for details. It was like dating a private investigator. I don’t think women who have married police officers even encountered this kind of interrogation on their pre-marital dates! He would ask me about my work schedule. My heart fluttered because of his endless need for us to be together.

He stored my name in his phone as ‘My Life’ and assigned Marc Anthony’s, “My Baby You” as the ring tone. It didn’t matter to him that that his friends were nauseated whenever it rang.

I was flattered by his questions like, what were my plans for tomorrow? What time would I start work and when would I finish? Yes, this is one of the tender signs of affection that any woman waits for. I entertained all of his questions, under the blind illusion that ‘he cared’.

However, the bubble burst when he said, “Could you give me a photocopy of your monthly work roster?”

As an avid fan of true crime stories, I detected classic symptoms of a stalker. As I did not look forward to nights of his car tailing my car everywhere I went and countless police reports, I saw the end of that friendship before it had the chance to turn really ugly.

I stand by my principles, in that I believe the potential One should be able to accept me for who I am and not expect me to change my personality to tailor fit his requirements. If I do decide to change, it will be of my own free will and not because he orders me to do so. Changing a part of you to please another, takes its toll on you sooner or later.

One of my girlfriends, Tracy, learnt this the hard way when she was in a relationship with Danny. She was determined to make it work, although they were the complete opposites in character. Danny was the pious introvert and Tracy was the social butterfly, well known for her bubbly persona. She willingly morphed into a different person to accommodate him. She accepted her restricted freedom as he expected her to go straight home after her classes. Outings with friends were strictly forbidden, except with him. She admitted she wanted out of the stifling relationship. However it was not easy since he was the apple of her parents’ eyes. They broke up in the end, but it was a happy ending for her. Tracy is now blissfully married to a prince charming who accepts her for who she is.

So how do you find the right man without having to lose sleep and changing who you really are? Other than praying to the Al-Mighty for romantic interventions, I will just patiently tread through my single life, believing The One will eventually walk my way. Hopefully not including the chaperones or a nagging mother – in – law.

After all, good things come to those who wait.