I’ve been single for 1,328 days, and in that time I’ve been on a lot of dates.
Seriously, there’s not a lesbian left within a three-mile radius of my flat that I haven’t met in a dingy pub on a Tuesday evening.
From PE teachers to police officers, and vets to more PE teachers. Seriously, what is it about lezzas that makes them want to teach exercise to kids?
But I’ve rarely gone beyond date number three.
Which, in the case of the police officer, is gutting because I would’ve got her pension when she dies.
Shame.
This dating malarky is exhausting. All this pretending to be funny, sexy and charming.
When do I let the unhinged Jenna seep out?
Talking about things seeping out. When is it ok to fart in front of the woman I’m dating? I can’t always control the smell, so maybe I’ll just deal with the bloat and then deflate on the way home.
Dating is like a job interview.
Hence, why I feel I need to be a positive, happy little bunny who radiates warmth, confidence, and never suffers from gastrointestinal distress.
Yeah, that’s not me.
And that’s probably why I’m finding them exhausting.
I don’t want to disappear into myself before I’ve even had the chance to see if she’s rich enough for me to hide my personality long-term.
If they want to be with me, they’ll have to deal with the real me.
For example, the real me didn’t clean her shower this morning because one day the universe will go dark and there’ll be no trace of anyone’s existence, so what’s the point?
But Jenna, if there’s no point in anything (you nihilistic bumhead) then why date in the first place?
To find someone rich who can give me back tickles.
Duh.
Maybe just take that “it doesn’t matter if it works out or not, because the world will end” attitude to your next date, so you can just relax and be yourself.
Eugh, fine.
Hi, I’m Jenna. I fart, I spiral, I have a toxicly dirty shower, but I also have some redeeming qualities, which I hope will become clear.
Probably after date three.