So there I was, lying in bed next to what I honestly thought was dreamboat material. This was after seven minutes of pretty dull non orgasmic (for me anyway) sex with a man I genuinely thought I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. We’d been dating for three weeks (cue desperate) although I’d been dating him in my head for three years (cue deluded) hence why I perhaps saw things through some pretty rose tinted glasses. Oh who am I kidding? They were rose wallpapered, you’d need x-ray fucking vision to see through those puppies. Aaanyway, there we are – him falling asleep, me wide awake smiling broadly just so happy to be a participant.
Through some pretty persistent jabbing I managed to annoy him awake again and we end up on the absolutely DEADLY topic of ‘out of ten’. And yes I asked the DEADLY question and after considering for a moment or two he said (I think you can guess) I was a seven. Well, I expressed mock disapproval and he in turn said that seven was actually pretty good considering a ten doesn’t exist (as no ones perfect) and Beyonce’s an eight. Well I thought, by that logic seven isn’t half bad. I’m one off Beyonce for fuckssake, winning! It was only when I shared this story with some mates that I realised I had perhaps missed the point entirely and rather than rolling over and going to sleep singing a made up ‘One off Beyonce so Suck it up Bitches’ song in my head I should in fact have ordered a taxi and told him to go have crap sex with himself from now on.
Incidentally he later dumped me on a tube platform after taking me out for a pity dinner having more than likely cheated on me with some ski bunny whilst enjoying a mini break in the Swiss Alps with a bunch of friends he never introduced me to. Yep, that ACTUALLY happened and yes I did take it like a bitch. But no longer!
Before we get this blog going I just want to clear something up so I don’t put off any men folk that might have gotten this far. This site is not about slagging off guys. I love men, many of my closest friends are men (haha) – but unfortunately beyond that I am crap at them, which turns out to be amusing to those around me. Incidentally I don’t hate life but I do find it quite challenging (not in a suicidal way, more in a rubix cube or Coutndown conundrum sort of a way). So, now in my thirtieth year on this planet I have decided not to get therapy but to share my many misadventures on this blog instead because this is free and therapy is expensive. Happy reading Mum.
-Scarlett Tate, about a 7 out of 10