Well, we’d sweated together, experienced the dizzying heights of euphoria together following a hardcore session, admired each other’s bodies, and met up the following night for a repeat performance.
And last night, we went out partying. I’m talking about I, my new friend from the gym (what did you think I was referring to?!).
A dying breed of person currently in my life, I is also a 30-something Singleton. (Yes, F, you were one of the last ones, but, in a shameful betrayal of the Sisterhood you have been cruelly snatched from the Single life by Older Man, no matter how strongly you wish to deny it.) A veteran of dating websites (6 years!), she has many an amusing tale to tell.
I is welcome addition to my social life. Unlike most of my married friends, she does not have to rush off Cinderella-style before midnight, to return to her duties as a wife and mother. A some-time resident of LA, she is as fanatical about exercise as I am, is the same size as me, as enthusiastic about fashion, and like me, is eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Kate Moss-designed collection at Topshop (1 May, everyone!). A fellow North-West Londoner, she frequents the same city hotspots and has a penchant for the same brunch venues as me.
As we sat at the bar, critically surveying the proliferation of 20-something smock-clad, pob-sporting clones, we lamented the ever decreasing pool of eligible, worthy men, and gloomily mulled over the narrow range of options available to strong, independent, feisty women, whose progressive demands are becoming ever more difficult to meet.
At midnight, it was on to another bar in town, to celebrate the 30th birthday of my friend, J. May I bring a friend along, to add to the guest list? I had asked him on Friday. Of course, he had replied, and I had sensed the mischievous glint in his eye. Especially, he continued, if said friend is a previously unmentioned mystery lover. In the event, I turned up alone, for what was a fun evening of partying, before returning home alone to no further messages from men on the dating website.
And so today, I have once again awoken to the prospect of yet another working Sunday, plotting the career that inevitably serves as one of many deterrents to potential suitors, and spending another solitary afternoon in the park or a café with the Sunday papers.
At least I have a new partner in crime to enjoy Singledom with, though.
And last night, we went out partying. I’m talking about I, my new friend from the gym (what did you think I was referring to?!).
A dying breed of person currently in my life, I is also a 30-something Singleton. (Yes, F, you were one of the last ones, but, in a shameful betrayal of the Sisterhood you have been cruelly snatched from the Single life by Older Man, no matter how strongly you wish to deny it.) A veteran of dating websites (6 years!), she has many an amusing tale to tell.
I is welcome addition to my social life. Unlike most of my married friends, she does not have to rush off Cinderella-style before midnight, to return to her duties as a wife and mother. A some-time resident of LA, she is as fanatical about exercise as I am, is the same size as me, as enthusiastic about fashion, and like me, is eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Kate Moss-designed collection at Topshop (1 May, everyone!). A fellow North-West Londoner, she frequents the same city hotspots and has a penchant for the same brunch venues as me.
As we sat at the bar, critically surveying the proliferation of 20-something smock-clad, pob-sporting clones, we lamented the ever decreasing pool of eligible, worthy men, and gloomily mulled over the narrow range of options available to strong, independent, feisty women, whose progressive demands are becoming ever more difficult to meet.
At midnight, it was on to another bar in town, to celebrate the 30th birthday of my friend, J. May I bring a friend along, to add to the guest list? I had asked him on Friday. Of course, he had replied, and I had sensed the mischievous glint in his eye. Especially, he continued, if said friend is a previously unmentioned mystery lover. In the event, I turned up alone, for what was a fun evening of partying, before returning home alone to no further messages from men on the dating website.
And so today, I have once again awoken to the prospect of yet another working Sunday, plotting the career that inevitably serves as one of many deterrents to potential suitors, and spending another solitary afternoon in the park or a café with the Sunday papers.
At least I have a new partner in crime to enjoy Singledom with, though.
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