What woman doesn’t want a man?
July 5, 2011 § 82 Comments
Show me a (straight) woman of my age who is alone and who says she doesn’t want a man.
Show me a liar.
I am used to being alone and I thoroughly “get” the many, many benefits. I am used to it and good at it. But human nature dictates that we all crave companionship – and sex, to a greater or lesser degree. Anyone who says otherwise is either jaded and damaged into that position by experiences that have left her raw and in pain and fearful of being hurt ever again. Or desperate, though even more desperate not to appear desperate. Or massively on the defensive. Or all three.
Sometimes, listening to my friends complaining about the men in their lives – make that practically every woman I know – I think, the single life has its compensations. I am happy every day in a sort of low-burn way. Jolly diligent about counting my blessings, for the umpteenth time. Children healthy: check. Children not crazy: check. Or on drugs, yet: check (though not yet in their teens there is of course no room for complacency on that score!). Roof over my head: check. No sign of lumps, yet: check. Family and friends I adore: check. And new found pleasure: a frothy latte a day (I never used to like coffee, all my life, up until about six months ago, which was always awkward and dreary in cafes). I relish my autonomy and freedom and privacy. But don’t give me that chippy, “A man? No thanks, never again!”
It is sad. And it is bullshit.
They might not want to be with the wrong man but who doesn’t want to be with the right one?
I will say it aloud and I will say the fucking obvious but unsayable (because it is not allowed) and because no one else will: I may have 2.4 kids and an ex-husband and may be rising fifty, in other words, a slack cunt on botched legs, but I do not want to be alone.