I know I’m a catch, and I’d really like to go on an exciting lunch date with you to the hot hip new bar you’re proposing and I’m very keen to pay for your brilliant plan to boost my Instagram account with 10,000 new followers but,
My legs are hairy
The cat has to go to the vet
My pouting tween has left her school uniform on the bus
The Valium isn’t working
I need a long nap
Unless you organise a babysitter, come and pick me up and pay for everything our blooming romance is not going to happen
Please contact me at irresistiblematch.com so you can take a ticket and join the queue of eligible males pining for me
Thank you hot stuff
CURRENT RELATIONSHIP STATUS:
Sleeping in the corner of a queen-sized bed with a fidgety cat, a feral child who sleeps mostly after midnight and mangy old teddies. When my kids ask me if I want to get another pet I think, ‘well they’re messy and difficult to keep and I haven’t really looked for one, but eventually I may want a man around the house.’ I’ve got five minutes remaining on the libido setting of my biological clock, so when I discovered the Oxford Dictionary has a word husbandable (it means fit for cultivation) I realised I should hunt for a man who is already house trained. Our life is such an attractive proposition for a man to join in: yelling pre-menopausal financially stressed mother, swearing teenager who throws things at her sisters, smart arse middle child and mental youngest. Why wouldn’t a good-looking man want to move in and help me raise my kids?
I have a big crush on someone who is possibly unsuitable for me, but I can’t wait to find the next man I’m going to break up with. I have to admit I am jealous of women with husbands. No one tells you when you become a single mother you’ll resent happily married couples calling each other cute pet names. They are revolting. Single mothers find out fast who our friends are; some women think you want to steal their husbands. These are usually the women with husbands who aren’t worth stealing.
During my seven years as a single mum I’ve had a few imaginary husbands. My next husband will audition in front of a judging panel of my harsh girlfriends, I haven’t got a clue. One honest friend said, “You’re a bad picker, and if you insist on wearing make up you wore in 1995 you are responsible for the tragic men you pick up.”
Old age dating can be fun. Hormones can make us make babies with any old trash, but I don’t want to breed with my next husband. He doesn’t have to worry about me getting pregnant. I’m not going to write off his car or stop him going to work. I want him to go to work.
I’ve made so many attempts at finding dream stepfather I can’t remember all the men I’ve been out with. After looking for so long, I ended up in a meaningful long-term relationship with Mr Potato Head. I try to choose quality over quantity, I’d like to get back on the horse but I’m not desperate, I have a new motto: I don’t chase them, I replace them.
ARE YOU MY HUSBAND?
A single mother left her babies in the nest with a teenager in charge. The kids screamed so the mother left in a hurry.
“Damn,” said the mother. “I’d like to find a husband. I’ll be back.”
So away she went, a long way from the deep dark suburbs.
She did not know what her husband looked like. He might have walked right by her. She did not see him.
Where is my husband?
She looked at the golf course. She saw a sporty young man in a golf buggy. Are you my husband?
The young man just stared at her like she was deranged.
The sporty man was not her husband so she walked on.
Then she came to a pub. She saw a pot bellied drunk at the bar.
“Are you my husband?” She said to the man.
“Me wife kicked me out, I could be your hubby,” he said.
“No, you are a yobbo, you are not my husband.
The pot-bellied drunk was not her husband. The young sporty man was not her husband. Where is my husband?
She came to a strip club. She saw a man who looked sharper than a rat with a gold tooth sitting in a booth.
“Are you my husband?’ she said to the man.
“I could be your husband tonight baby, “ said the man.
“No, you are not my husband, you are a player,” she said.
She looked on the Internet. She found a man whose photo was 20 years old.
“How could you be my husband?” He replied. “I am gorgeous and you are an old cougar.”
“Where is my husband? Where could he be? I will have a husband, I will, I know I will find him”
The single mummy ran, she saw a road worker showing his bum crack. No! He was not her husband. She ran on and on.
She called to a good-looking older man, but he did not stop, he went right on.
The mummy walked on and on. “Where am I?” said the mummy, “I want to go home.”
So the single mummy went home and when she got to her front gate, the mummy saw a cute man visiting her neighbours.
“There he is, there is my husband!” she said.
“Do you know who I am?” said the cute man.
‘Yes, you are not a yobbo, you are not a player, you are not too young for me, you are not too old for me, you are not too good looking, you are cute and you are my husband.”
And they lived happily ever after in separate houses keeping their five children from three different marriages at arm’s length.