Don’t Ask me!
If I had a pound for every time someone asked me why I was still single, I would be cruising around the Med in a luxury yacht with my harem of male Dolce and Gabbana models, most probably not giving a damn about my single status.
I agree on paper, it doesn’t quite add up. I’m an attractive, professional, financially secure woman living in a large metropolis with an abundance of available and desirable men. Or so you’d think. But here I am, getting incredulous looks and raised eyebrows when I confess to being single at the ripe old age of 38.
Take the conversation I had with a minicab driver who drove me home after a boozy night out. ‘How old are you?’ he asked, ‘38’ I replied. ‘Oh my God, really?’ he said, with a forceful emphasis that I find African minicab drivers have down to perfection. When he then learned that not only am I that old, but also single and childless, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, 38 and still single. And no children either. Oh dear’ he repeated, shaking his head vigorously. ‘Thanks a lot mate’ I think, but what am I supposed to say? ‘Actually I’m a serial killer who’s killed all 5 of my husbands and buried them under the floorboards.’ Oh well, he did say he thought I looked a lot younger, although that might have been when he realised there was no chance of a tip otherwise. Hmm.
I find the cruellest people are old distant relatives, and when you factor in that mine are Indian, it gets even worse. They really know how to dig the knife in. The most notable comment was from a wizened old crow who said ‘Older single women are like last week’s food rotting in the fridge. No-one wants them any more.’ Well at least I don’t have whiskers growing out of my chin, grandma!
So, to answer the question once and for all, here’s my theory. I don’t think I had any idea of who I was, and what I wanted, until I was well into my late twenties. In fact, I cannot recognise the ‘me’ that I was before that time. I have no doubt that whoever I may have married at that time would not suit me now. Unless they also changed in the same way as I have done, i.e. beyond all recognition.
It just so happened that during my late twenties, I got into the rave scene in a big way (I know, being a late starter seems to be my thing!) And with hindsight, trying to meet a life partner whilst surrounded by strobe lights and loved-up sweaty people was probably not the best idea. By the time I got out of the scene, I was approaching my mid-thirties and in need of some ‘me-time’ to piece my faculties together.
So there we have it, next thing I know I’m 38 and according to minicab drivers and old women, completely on the shelf. Great. I wouldn’t mind so much, but it’s not as though these people have fared much better. As I said to the minicab driver ‘So how about you?’ He replied ‘Oh, I’m divorced’.
I wonder if any of these people can believe that this 38 year old single woman is quite happy with her lot. Ok so I’m single, but I’m content. So excuse me if I’m not spending every waking hour formulating a cunning plan to ensnare a man. And then crying into my wine glass when it fails.
Don’t get me wrong, should a suitable man come along, I’m not going to turn him down. I’ve accepted that my ‘meeting Mr Right’ phase is a bit later than the conventional standard. I can even guarantee that he won’t say ‘she just wasn’t the person I thought she was’ a few years down the line. Because I’ve already been through that. And I was considerate enough to do it own my own, rather than whilst in a relationship. I should be lauded rather than made to feel like a freak.
So next time I get the withering ‘So you’re still single’ look, I’m going to say ‘Yes, isn’t great I’ve chosen to wait until the time is right.’ And you know, this shelf is not as uncomfortable as you might think!
By Rajveen
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