Backwards In High Heels

An Open Letter To The Universe From The Single Ladies

I couldn’t help but notice some of my beautiful, talented and inspiring single female friends have felt a touch let down in the relationship stakes of late. This does not include the sub group of idiot women who think they are failures without a man in their life and try to validate themselves through relationships (sorry, couldn’t be bothered to sugar coat that). So in the spirit of mediation with the Universe…

Dear Universe,

It’s time we had chat, dear Universe. It’s that time of year again and I can’t help but notice you want to have your fun. It’s not just me who’s noticed, a whole raft of female friends in a similar predicament have spied your little joke. Now we like a laugh as much as the next person, but stop trying to turn us into Bridget Jones – you have enough of them on your books.

Okay, so you read Bridget Jones and found it amusing (there’s no accounting for taste). And yes, in a few days I’ll be celebrating another birthday and I’m female and I’m single but sorry, I refuse to sit in jimjams and screech along to Celine Dion.

Having consulted with others, when we put that thought of Mr Right into the ether could you please stop sending along specimens that fill the criteria BUT are already taken or are gay (or gay and taken). It was mildly amusing at first but now it’s just annoying. I mean Noel Edmonds does a bit of cosmic ordering and you send him a hit TV show and a nubile young bride, what’s the deal or no deal there?

Please don’t go through a Thorn Birds phase. Send a hot Catholic priest my way and I really will go psycho bitch on your arse. And as we get older we’ve spotted your new joke. The blokes who crack on to us in the hope of not having to resort to spending their pension on a Thai bride.

And the single, straight blokes you send who are pre-programmed with the ‘you’re like a sister’ sentence, well that’s just downright mean. Oh and the ones who list how great you are but then roll up with a tetchy, moody, IQ of a sprout girly packaged in smooth skin and gravity defying breasts. Ha bloody ha, we get it – you wired a lot of men on a very basic circuit.

Please don’t think my sisters and I have a ridiculously high opinion of ourselves, unrealistic expectations or feel ourselves free of blame in the old relationships game. We’re not needy, desperate or in need of saving. We are not perfect. We are an untapped resource of love, support, ambition and we are wonderfully flawed. We don’t need validating. We echo that which is shown to us. We are not prone to breaking out into ‘All By Myself’, we’re more a Meredith Brook’s ‘Bitch’ set of women. We are strong. We are painfully fragile.

It’s just we know when you are playing with us and it gets a tad tiresome.

Love

Beki

Two Birds, One Stone

As a total aside I'm sure 'two birds, one stone' was quite frequent for Mick & Keith in the 60s...but I digress...

The story that caught my eye the other week was one regarding a regigging of the wedding service to include the baptism of any children the couple already have. The Church have had to accept that people try before they buy.

Would I be heartless to suggest another double ceremony - wedding and funeral? Then you could marry a millionaire with a dicky ticker, give him a heart stopping kiss after he's signed on the dotted line and bury him. Jobs a good 'un and you haven't wasted two outfits.

If You Can't Say Anything Nice....

If you speak to me and think I sound like a girly version of Jamie Oliver, that'll be because of my fat tongue, which is engorged due to severe biting of said tongue.

The last few weeks I seem to be permanently in a state of biting my tongue as opposed to letting leash with my opinions as (a) they haven't been asked for and (b) they may result in me being struck off Christmas card lists right, left and centre.

I am in no position to tell others what to do, in fact the idea of me giving career/relationship/life advice is laughable. I am a master of the muddle through. However, in recent weeks I've developed a nervous twitch as I've wanted to start so many sentences with "What you should do..." or "What's wrong with that is..." and the old classic "Your a f*cking idiot, now listen to me..."

I don't think it is any coincidence that this sudden burst of interfering comes with the discovery of, *gasp* a hag hair on my chin. I think I may be going through one of those rites of passage.