All posts filed under: humour

77. See you later, miss vibrator

Last month I threw away my bullet. Poof. Gone. There was nothing wrong with it. It hadn’t worn out or wound down or fizzled up on the insides like an old radio. It still hit the spot, made me squirm and writhe and gasp and sing like a canary all over the bed sheets. I just made a decision it was time to end it and I ended it. Plop. In the bin. Another useless bit of plastic swimming in a dump somewhere. I know. I KNOW. Someone fetch an ambulance or a fire engine or a detective to find this poor woman’s marbles. What’s wrong with me? Vibrators are awesome. They’re a single woman’s best friend. They’re the slightly seedier version of getting a cat. Me, my vibe and my pussy: We’re one big, happy, creepy family.

75. It comes and goes

Does anyone get the perfect amount of sex? My friends and I talk a lot about our love lives and so often sex is a bone of contention even in happy relationships. There seems to be a lot of mismatched expectation and negotiation: a lot of pleading, begging, gnashing, blocking, sighing, yearning, weeping, scrabbling, silent mounting and tearful pleas to “get off me so I can go to sleep.”

73. Miles apart

And it’s over. 10 days. 15 messages. I’m not even sure I can use the word over – did it ever really begin? It was all going well until I suggested meeting up. We’d ticked off friends and homes and passions with no major upsets. We’d had a cheeky flirt – just a flash of thigh, a spot of conversational cleavage – to up the anticipation. We’d swapped our real names, which in the world of anonymous internet dating is, well, keen. Then I ask about meeting up and she goes as squirmy as fish in a bucket.

71. How not to write a dating profile

Writing a good dating profile is hard. There’s so much pressure to cram your whole self into a couple of sentences and a photo. What if you miss off some vital bit of information that could have elevated your profile from a ‘no’ to a ‘maybe’ or even a ‘yes’? What if, off paper, you and the other person are perfect for one another but none of your words fit together as they should?

70. The Matriarchy

And I’m back to living with my mother. Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it sounds. She’s here for 2 weeks because the lifts in her building are being repaired and her legs shiver like blancmange when she tries to climb the stairs. My stairs are nice and short. You can cover them in one drunken lurch – perfect for wobbly legs (and heads).

69. A rock of one’s own

I don’t know about you, but sometimes my head can go a bit…wonky. Everything might look fine from the outside – the walls have been freshly painted, the windows are sparkling – but inside the telly’s been smashed, there are books all over the floor and moths have eaten half my dress collection. I wonder if this is how people who are depressed feel. Like the inside of their head’s been vandalised.