Ghosting – when did politeness die? I would have sent flowers…

When did politeness die? I would have sent a condolence card.
In today’s world, the lack of blue ticks in Whatsapp can say so much. But what about when they do go blue? And then, Radio Silence?

“Thanks for your message, but I’m scratching my arse and too busy to get back to you.”
Or maybe,
“Hmm, totally crazy let’s leave things here.”
Although it could be –
“I have just been struck by lightning after reading your message so will never be able to answer as I am now dead.”

But no. Let’s just leave two blue tacks hanging there.

All they have to say is, ‘I’m sorry, I’m not interested in communicating anymore with you’. Then like an adult, archive or delete the Whatsapp conversation. It’s very straight forward, in no way rocket science. So I am left bemused as to why so many men I have been in contact seem to find this hard. The recurring factor is me, so I will accept that maybe me being so open and friendly maybe a stumbling block and in the future aim to employ the same ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude they seem to things so totally fine to apply to me and other women.

I’m getting rather bored with men going quiet on me. I’m not doing anything odd, extravagant or kooky, and so, I’m left in this purgatory of ‘what the fuck happened?’ which is a waste of my brainpower and a space on my ‘Dance Card’ of life.

Modern dating has changed everything. In the past we had human interaction, the bravery to approach someone in person and say, ‘Excuse me, but would you like to grab a coffee sometime?’, instead of hiding behind phone screens and busy lives. Being able to window shop for the ‘perfect’ partner has spoiled us. We create ridiculous lists of essential criteria, which if we met someone fun and interesting at a party, we would disregard in an instant. Yet, in our ivory towers, we merrily swipe this way and that, and in our unknowing rudeness, disregard the norms of politeness.

I’ve always been fond of men who open doors, stand up when I return to the table, or who run round to open a car door for me. It might seem over the top but in fact, it’s a sign of chivalry that is delightful in an age where many of their sex think nothing of ‘ghosting’, ‘cloaking’ or just simply being bloody rude.

In one notable incident in the past twelve months, I did fear for one mans life after he disappeared without a trace, after a series of quite normal bits of chatty, banter correspondence. Surely, if his phone had been broken, misplaced or stolen, he might have found another way to contact me? To reassure me that that last message, innocent as it was had not been misinterpreted… A girl left, dangling either on a message read and then never responded too, is no more a pretty sight than to see a freshly plucked bird hanging outside the butcher. Both dangle unceremoniously, above the earth, wondering what their fate may be. But the reality is that the girl, poor soul, who did begin to hope that maybe this man was something different, had potential and possibility and maybe care for ‘him’ whoever he might be was just trying to negotiate this mine filled the world of modern dating.

When the said individual did return he blamed, work, lack of reception in the coffee shop sponsored by a big brand that would like have had wireless even in the world ended, and the girl did, eventually, realise he was a Mr Unavailable. But that message?

Two blue ticks are a cruel way to leave a girl. But I’m beginning to think that if these men think it’s ok to ‘ghost’ in real life, maybe Karma may even the score. Wouldn’t it be nice to think that they get haunted for real at a later point? Is that mean? Hmm. I’m not sure it’s not actually just fair…

This is a lovely article on how to see the signs that someone may be about to ‘ghost’ on you. But if in doubt, just move on. If he can’t be arsed to get back to you he isn’t worth your time.

Talent is sexy

The Women’s World Cup has been a breath of fresh air. Fit – in every sense of the word – women, displaying excellent ball skills and talent on the international stage. Orientation didn’t matter. Colour didn’t matter. What mattered was skill and tactics. And god, was it sexy.

Talent is sexy. Whether it’s football, cooking, an ability to load a dishwasher to its fullest capacity in a time effective manner, or kissing, done with skill, it’s bloody sexy.

And that’s the thing about modern sexuality, why pigeon hole yourself? Why restrict yourself?

I’ve kissed girls many a time. I’ve gone down on two. I’ve been fingered by two, and it’s been fun. But does that make a lesbian? Does that make me bisexual? Does it make me experimental? Does it fucking matter? No.

Life is for living. Life is for loving. Life is for finding the people, the places, the tastes, the feels that make you feel good.

But really? What makes someone sexy? Talent and skill with a good dose of modesty that makes me moist every time, and it can be either sex….

All I want is you…

I chat to other men through apps. I try to make an effort to find someone, someone other than you. But really? Truly? I’m still infatuated with you.

Last night I found the Mumford and Sons song, ‘I will wait’. It was haunting. Totally true, but I can’t spend my life waiting on the off chance for you. I must try to move on with my life. But I can carry on quietly loving you…

(I want you to be the right man…)

I couldn’t help myself…

Lets blame low self esteem? Or maybe attention deficit disorder? Anything is better than me thinking I’m still in love with Family Friend. As previously exposed he has no interest in me as relationship or relationship material and therefore I am setting myself up for heartbreak if I don’t move on with the rest of my life. Saying that of course, he is a photographer and inspired by recent trip to see some art I’m back to taking naked selfie’s, (which I’m sure give it 30 or so years may become some form of art) and he’s a great person to show them to for “feedback”.

Or to be blunt for me to find out if they turned him on… oh dear. I has been doing so well. So well… 🙄😬

The Sideboob – less is more all the way…

I order a dress online based on the positive reviews about it. It’s metallic pink. What could possibly go wrong?


The only part of the dress that looks good, is the fact it shows off a delicious bit of ‘side boob’. Yes. The only thing I like about this dress is the fact that as part of it’s cut, it showcases one piece of my flesh. The rest of the dress makes me look pregnant and although, yes, I would love to be pregnant with Family Friends child, if you aren’t carrying a miracle baby (as any pregnancy would be for me because of my health) then to be frank, you don’t want to look as though you are addicted to doughnuts.

I desperately want to love the dress. I heard a program on Radio 4 where the stylist said, that the go-to thing for Glastonbury was a ‘metallic dress’. And when I heard this, my heart cried out for joy as most glittery shiny clothing has an age cut off of 10 so for adult ware to catch up? I was overjoyed.

Flash forward to now and I am standing here in my ‘dream’ metallic dress and I look ridiculous. Luckily, despite my autoimmune disease which fatigues me enormously and my immune suppression which make me more susceptible to infection, I do have access to social media, so if in doubt, ‘Ask your friends’. I post some pictures online and wait.

Out in the real world, there are real problems happening. Don’t I know it. I’ve been on the front line of illness and stepped a little too close to the front line of risk in health. But now, in a moment of slight relief, I relish this silliness. This emphasis on nothingness. On fashion and folly. On ‘side boob’. On a body, I’m bloody lucky to still have.