I really like being in my thirties. It’s all part of coming out, looking after myself, even having my heart carelessly tossed aside by thoughtless boys. But more than that it’s the whole knowing who I am, where I want to be and that I do want to hold hands with someone on my way to the sunny side of Strumpetville.
Recently, whilst eyeing up the bounty of eye-candy to be seen about town, I had one of the bijou epiphanies I occasionally experience. Friends have often advised me not, on the rocky road to love, to express traits I myself find unattractive. How right they are, too! But I realised that when I look at attractive guys I am actually seeing often what I hope I look like.
Or what I aspire too. Well, that’s something I have to work on; though it’s nice to have a visualised goal for the medium term. I, of course, often visualise more short-term goals but that’s not for here.
But when all’s said and done I like guys who are in their 30s too. Not that I’m averse to guys in their 40s or 20s or beyond either end of that for causal assignations. But guy’s in their 30s are still in their prime, whilst also having the life experience to stimulate upstairs as well as down. Sorry, 20-somethings; I like people who can speak in sentences n’shit. Guys in their 40s… well, I’m more open to that (liking my fellas to be generally older too) but they’re not around as much.
Yes, guys in their 30s are hot, clever, available, and sorted. Not entirely unlike me [he blushes]
On the dating front I have been in touch with Tall Handsome Australian who says he wants to meet again but wants to take things slow because all the pieces need to fit for him before he stops being cautious. Tiresome, but I don’t want to become cynical so OK; let’s see what happens. Date one begets date two, not a trip to City Hall. And on the dating front; on Thursday I have a date with a Scottish lawyer I met via Soulmates, which promises to be fun.
After that I think I’ll take a week off. It occurs to me of all the men I’ve met I really have only been on a few dozen dates and that’s not many. With 8 ½ years of thirty something ahead I have also realised I can take things a bit easier. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may gentle reader, to be sure, but less haste and more speed and all that. Er… well, you know what I mean.