So what’s been getting me all hot under the collar, I hear you cry? (Well, not cry of course – we all know real men don’t do that). Well, I am afraid to say that I have a bone to pick with the male race, one which involves the age old notion of availability.
Before you get all defensive I am not writing in reference to the rather girly idea of emotional availability. I myself am often privy to the attentions of already attached males (married, coupled up etc). I do concede that everyone needs a little fun and flirtation in their lives but it appears to me that such men think little of the destruction they cause along the way.
The sad truth is Gents, that the girl involved rarely sees the liaison for the all too brief distraction that it is to you. A bit of ‘harmless’ texting here, a dashing of sexual innuendo there and BAM… She’s fallen. Yes, it really is that simple. If the female community had a pound for every exchange of those dreaded words: “He’s never going to leave her for you…” Well, we’d probably just have all of you killed off, and IVF our years away in a pink-hued heaven.
Now far be it from me to be tangential here lads, but there is another cruel twist to this saga of subterfuge. Namely that it would be nice to be able to walk down the street every now and then without fear of your ever-so-psycho other half deciding to use you as an unwilling participant in her demonstration of a public lynching.
I don’t want to break any hearts out there but this simply has to be said: You are not 007, you are not MI5/CIA or even KGB – you are [insert generic name here] and somewhere along the line you will get found out. However, us girlies still like to believe that the sun shines out of your proverbial and that you are a little lost lamb who can never be blamed for his misguided actions.
So, who gets the blame? That’s right (crikey, you guys are quick learners) – the girl, the ‘temptress’, Belle du Freakin’ Jour. So, not only do we have to deal with the ‘love of our life’ (sorry, it’s a girl thing) turning out to be, let’s face it, a bit of a turd, we also have Lady Macbeth and, undoubtedly, the rest of the female race on our case. Oh yes, hell hath no fury greater than a woman scorned (kudos, William Congreve). We are pariah-ed, damaged goods, sluts. Our only consolation being the abolishment of burning at the stake in 1790.
So as you can see, finding oneself to have become ‘the other woman’ is a situation which is certainly less than ideal and one which holds absolutely no hope whatsoever for a future romance. And yet I am most ashamed to say that, when found in such a situation, I also never want to believe it. Oh yes, we fall for it time and time again. When the realisation finally hits -(usually when Mr The-One very suddenly becomes Mr Where-Da-Hell-Has-He-Gone?) the damage has already been done. Cue heartbreak, duvets, Titanic and chocolate. Not to mention the all consuming guilt you feel for being duped into breaking the bonds of sisterhood. It’s not pretty, I can tell you.
So lads, next time you feel the urge to wink at that cute blondie in the Ram, or chat up some bodacious babe in Arena, spare a thought for the delicate hearts you are playing with. Because I can tell you now, that while you go home to tuck yourself up in bed with your chosen one, a poor girl like me goes back to her empty bed and spends the next three days crying into her cornflakes and playing the infamous anthem of reluctant mistresses: “Don’t marry her, have me.” (Beautiful South, you should check it out).
So, dear friends, as we come to the end of this lesson, I shall conclude this humble offering of the naked truth, of the elephant in the room, of the intricacies and complexities of the human spirit, with the immortal words of none other than your friend and mine – Fatman Scoop: Be faithful. Please?
Charlotte Sefton
exeposedev 