No Mans Land

A friend sent me a blog link and I’m not sure why. The sales pitch was something along the lines of ‘fabulous and inspiring…’

Seriously, after 300 words my first thought was this; what is so inspiring about a smug, self-congratulatory blog written by a woman whose husband didn’t run off with an American he met at a business conference?

In fact her husband is so still there, she’s pumping out offspring with more efficiency than a production line in a Taiwanese toy factory.

And that perfect husband helps sufficiently with their brood, not to mention their renovations, that she has ample time to sew clothes for her litter, quilt and blog and restore antique furniture, while whipping up culinary triumphs in her Thermomix. Bet she’s never been late on the school run in her whole perfect life.

I have one child, one dog, one cat, six snails and no husband.

I am often late on the school run and my kitchen is too small to accommodate a Thermomix even if I could afford one. I have seen caravans with bigger kitchens than mine, but it suits me fine so long as I don't allocate half my available bench space with an enormous appliance and another cupboard for the attachments.

So now I’m back in the dating pool; talk about your mid-life crisis.

It was something like fifteen years ago, my last first date.    
I honestly don’t know if I can cope with the selection of discarded outfits all over my bedroom when my eight year old daughter is already on that case with the living room, and well, every other room in the house.

I’m just too old for this shit. No really.

And too exhausted.

I'm trying to look understated sexy, but not dress like an invitation, lest I have to resort to combat training to get home intact.

And as much as I really need a stiff drink to relax my nerves, I can't drink too much because when your offspring bounces on your bed at 6am you soon realise that hang-overs and young children do not mix.

This leap back in time to my single twenties and thirties, just doesn't seem as much fun as it was back then.  
I'm just as self-conscious, but for many different and uncomfortable reasons.

Anyway back to business; To shave my legs or not to shave my legs? - that is the question.

One one hand it is just asking for trouble; If I do there's an expectation that he will know if I have or not. 
But if I don't, what if things are going so well he is in a position to discover that my legs are knitted from mohair? 

Not conducive to getting a second date.
If I wanted one.
I'm just note sure dating is worth the trouble anymore. 

I supposed it's validation - it has the potential to show me I'm still a desirable woman. 
That I'm something more than than a cook, cleaner, handyman, playmate, homework supervisor and dishwasher.

But here I am  getting ready for a date knowing I'm paying someone, more than I can afford, by the hour for the privilege even if it turns out to be awful.  

Maybe I should stay home, reorganize the kitchen and put that babysitter's money towards a Thermomix.