- Married people can’t decide… if you are pathetic or dangerous. Nor can married men. Married women think they are being inclusive when they ask you to coffee after a dinner party (singles bugger up the numbers) and often sit you next to another woman as ‘punishment’.
- Unless a man is… gay, married or dead you have to fancy him or you will endure a chorus of ‘See???? You are impossibly picky. You have to learn to compromise.’ No matter that he clearly has a personality disorder/a drug habit/is in prison. The problem, my friends, is yours. You: ‘He beat up his ex-wife.’ Friend: ‘People change.’
- When people call you brave… it is not a compliment. It is because they are horrified by your predicament. You may well not be horrified. You may well be basking in the peace/freedom. But they are still horrified.
- You are amazed by how many relationships… you don’t envy. Sure, there are a few (usually counted on one hand) that look like fun and solace rolled up into one lovely partnership. But most look like hard bloody work without much reward.
- Men don’t care… if you have cellulite. Or wrinkles. Believe it. They don’t. If they do then you are aiming low and missing. You are no longer a trophy – these days you are a prize. You haven’t waited this long to just…settle.
- Endless questions and calculations… if I am 42 and I meet him at 43 and he is 48, then how much sex can we cram in before everything dries up or flops? Do I even have the energy? Where will I put him? Everything will be OK but what does OK look like? Am I free or am I tragic? Am I desperate or am I powerful? Does everyone secretly think I’m a lesbian? What if he never appears? What then? What does that mean? Babies! Babies? Babies…Oh God, stepchildren.
I’m Absolutely Fine! The Manual for Imperfect Women is out in paperback now