Man to Look After You V Follow Your Heart
October 6, 2011 § 48 Comments
My friends divide into those who say I must go with Poppy Seed, a man (who potentially might) look after me, and those of a more romantic bent who say, follow your heart and seek out (probably unreliable in possibly almost every sense) Long Shot.
There is no predicting which type of friends fall into which category. I have found that I have been surprised by how seemingly sensible ones say follow your heart, and seemingly romantic ones tell me I have to be cynical at this point and go for the “sensible” ie. moneyed option.
I am shocked. I have always had church mice boyfriends and never in my life had a rich one. I lie. I once had a fling with an older, rich man who took me to a shop and bought me £400 worth of clothes. First and last time and completely extraordinary. I did not feel comfortable although, I own, I did accept them. It felt thrilling but odd and I felt guilty, so much so that I have never forgotten it. It never happened again. My mother always told me that if a man ever took me out to dinner I should order the very cheapest thing on the menu (fuck, I pined for the scallops but instead ate more melon and parma ham than anyone should reasonably have to), and always at least offer to pay my share even if I capitulated when he insisted on taking care of the whole bill himself. Never was I to go on holiday with a man who paid for me. Why not, I asked her? Because then you would be under a certain obligation. What if he was really, really in love with me and wanted me to go with him and I couldn’t because I did not have the means myself? Too bad. I was never to do it. I never did. The invitation – and dilemma – never arose. I was never an expensive girl. I didn’t give off that vibe and so didn’t engender that kind of treatment.
Regardless of the Poppy Seed V Long Shot scenario – well, perhaps not entirely regardless – I know in which camp I remain. I have never been looked after, so looking after myself comes naturally; no choice. It is a lovely idea, this looking after, but I expect it comes at a price, and if that price is that you don’t fancy him, that is surely too high a price, but a price which many a cleverer woman than me has been prepared to pay. I am a follow your heart type, though that means it’s been broken a few times. I console myself with the fact that at least I have experienced emotions that are Shakespearean; at least I have lived.
I think about Poppy Seed. If he were the age he is and broke, would I be going on a second date with him? I damn well hope so, is all I can say. I should like to stick with my picture of myself as no gold-digger so am putting down my going along to the next date to liking him, to keeping an open mind, as well as to the persuasiveness of my friends in the Man to Look After You For Once camp. The evidence of my history is that I really am not a gold-digger. The evidence of the fact that LS is doing it for me in my head more than PS, but LS hasn’t been in touch. And I would be an arsehole to write off a kind and companionable – and let’s face it, interested – man like PS before having given him a second chance…?
I hope that is the case, I sincerely do. Or else all the cynical men who so frequently comment on this site that all women are ever after is money, will have their money’s worth shouting me down and telling me there is no such thing as a woman who isn’t a gold-digger.
Well, fuck them. There are plenty of us in fact. And I am on a mission to prove those men wrong.
PS. Today is a quite a day for me in many respects. A work revelation is due. A date is fixed. And the watertight pretext for contacting LS might be forthcoming. If I don’t Approve Comments quite as swiftly as usual, I apologise, it’s because I am in and out, away from my desk more than usual. But I haven’t abandoned ship, I promise. [Jesus, I am loving keeping this blog going but it is every bit as demanding as having a cat or dog! I may have to neglect it for a few hours here and there, but there again, at least I don’t have to take you lot on a fucking walk!]