The Loo Test
And so with direction comes peace of mind, of sorts. Suddenly I’ve a hunch where this is all going, what the last six years have been about, and maybe even “what dreams may come”. But how will I know when I’ve found it? Well it’s not just about thunderbolts, it’s the little things too…
Look you know the tale by now. Right from a very early age when a certain curly blonde belle dame sans merci called Tracey unceremoniously dumped me at the infant school Christmas party for the far more strapping chalk monitor, my confidence with the opposite sex was thereafter seriously afflicted. Indeed by the time I’d reached my bookish teens I was a hopeless case, a handicap that further dogged me throughout my twenties, even as my professional career was also plodding along a mere a couple of rungs up from self-imposed mediocrity.
But when I changed EVERYTHING by inventing you know who that one fateful night, after that things just fell into place. And yet as I’ve discovered more recently, that was only half the jigsaw. What I’d initially intended as simply a way to break my proverbial duck became, as time went on, less the Mills and Boon and instead more the Northern and Shell; much to your and, I guess, my eventual disapproval.
What’s since followed has been a series of (rather than one single) Damascus moments so that, rather bizarrely, I now find myself on this quest for what my friend Joe always calls “the one”. Indeed some years ago, even as I just discovering my new superhuman powers (I jest of course), Joe had after making his own changes so stumbled like Dante upon his own (and literal) Beatrice during a trip to the family villa in Italy, proving these “meant to be” things do happen – well kind of, I’ll have to tell you more of Joe’s travails with Beatrice one day, although he remains convinced she’s still most definitely “the one”. I guess the point I’m trying to make here though is Joe was once by his own admission (or perhaps that’s boast) the so-called Casanova who became embittered by what he felt was unobtainable (which was probably why he then went to seed while settling with someone who unfortunately turned out to be some kind of psycho). Once he woke to himself again however, out of the blue came Beatrice, and like I said just now, despite all that’s occurred since, I still think she’s probably the right yin for his yang.
Anyway, so how am I going to know then? I mean once upon a time, and no doubt partly because I was suffering something of a dearth on the personal side, I probably harboured quite similar unrealistic notions to Joe about how such things might come about; because beneath all that “treat ‘em mean to keep ‘em keen” balderdash we chaps do do this you know. In fact I’d go so far as to say we’re far more vulnerable and far less practical about such idealism than is otherwise thought, so much so that sometimes we really are just better off thinking with our todgers instead!
Certainly I was in that precarious place back then, which is why all that stuff with Jane nearly messed up my head just when things were starting to go well. But you know pretty much the rest of that. What I’m trying to say is that, years later, I now fully appreciate how she wasn’t right for me at all because the whole scenario was presenting itself as a perfection I couldn’t possibly hope to maintain. And as that fellow recruiter I encountered the other week demonstrated, true happiness has got nothing to do with building pedestals. Besides I’m not a great believer in love at first sight. It’s utter rubbish in fact; I mean like you’d really “know” by merely clocking her across that supposedly crowded room. Not that there isn’t such a thing as eyes mutually zoning in on instant attraction that is, but come on, we’re really talking lust at first sight here aren’t we (which ain’t a bad thing mind you).
No, it’s far more accepted that true unremarkable chemistry creeps up on you unawares. However, as I’ve said before I think us chaps are more afraid of committing to the wrong person than actually committing so we get all angst about it when it comes along. Which brings me back to my original point. How would one know? Well okay what I’m about to say might sound daft, and it’s hardly the most romantic litmus test in the world either, but I reckon if you really think about it, you’ll see what I mean.
Suppose for instance I’ve met someone and we’re now part of each other’s world. And suppose she’s begun to regularly frequent that very private airspace that is my Nebfleet flat, the one place I’m truly me without online or offline embellishment. Well the question I’d pretty soon be asking myself is; long term is this really the person I can be “me” with? After all, as I’ve said before, once you drop all that performance bullshit, it’s time to exist with each other in the far less glamorous but real world alongside all things terribly mundane. Like, for instance, going to the toilet for number twos. So whilst I’m sat there having both forgotten my newspaper, and also to lock the door, in she walks by mistake and catches yours truly in what I’d hardly call all one’s glory. More like the very opposite perhaps! In which case we reach a crucial point in our relations as whatever illusion of perfection I might have previously been trying to conjure now lies terminally shattered in this single inopportune porcelain moment. However, and here’s the thing, if I’m nonetheless unfazed, nay in fact truly comfortable with this person seeing me in what let’s face it is my most unflattering of lights, then you know what, well hey, she’s the one for me!
Okay, don’t get me wrong. Such circumspection doesn’t mean I’m suddenly about to lure all manner of unsuspecting woman back to my flat after a few supposedly significant dates only to then spring this rather unsightly surprise on them. I mean I’m merely being theoretical, metaphorical, allegorical here!
Still (and if you’ll pardon the pun), you do get my drift, don’t you…
By Bastian Dash
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