Drink with a Former Twinkle
September 18, 2012 § 144 Comments
From yesterday’s Times:-
Just had a drink with Smidgen. A twinkle from several months ago, he gave out messages that were manifestly mixed and after a while, out of sheer mystification and impatience, I efficiently knocked any romantic notions I had firmly on the head. It is agreeable enough to see him these days, but I look at him and wonder how on earth I could have entertained thoughts of anything other than a warm acquaintance and the odd cup of coffee or glass of wine. Well, actually, I do know how. Usual state of play. No one else on the horizon at the time (except possibly Long Shot and, but as my nickname for him suggests, he couldn’t ever really count).
And today? No longer any bleeding horizon, let alone anyone on it.
I have been harbouring thoughts of creating one again. The internet is one thing, but there is nothing wrong with hoping to meet someone by other, erstwhile means as well. One friend and former plankton went online with no success but at least found it comforting to discover she wasn’t the only single person on the planet. In fact, she met her long-term partner – she is “ashamed to say”, though I don’t see why – at the office party. I must be one of the few people who actually likes the idea of an office party, but I have never had one to go to.
Like a complete tart, I go to everything I’m asked to, the opening of an ant’s arse, but that is not enough. I would really like to do some work that wasn’t so solitary. Watching the TV drama, Leaving, in which an older woman has an affair with a fit, much younger man, I thought, no wonder: she worked in a hotel and was in contact with people all the time. It’s called Opportunity.
Apart from the internet, with its infinite Opportunity, I have very little Other Opportunity. The trouble is, I find Other Opportunity, that of real life chance as opposed to online chance, more compelling, though I realise my off-line chance, which never amounted to much even when I was young, is now, effectively, nil.
An acquaintance suggested that I might consider trawling the obituaries pages to find, ripe for the picking, youngish widowers of women who had died untimely. What?
Call me naive or sanctimonious, but I was so appalled by the thought, I practically had to lie down. That wasn’t quite what I was thinking when I spoke of making my own Opportunity. But maybe that’s why I am a plankton, and the type of women whose efforts run rather more liberally than mine in the name of Opportunity, are not.