I was thinking just yesterday about dating. Not me actually dating but the actual doing of dating.
The last time I ‘dated’, I would have been around 19. I didn’t carry around a mobile phone, let alone two back then.
I’ve heard a lot from friends about Tinder and all the dating sites and to be honest, those little apps turn into scary nightmares in my brain. Plus I’m so sick of my phone.
Is there still such a thing as sinking a few pots down at the local pub and having a conversation about Kenny and Warren G and significance of both in today’s popular culture (or lack thereof)?
Oh hang on, it’s a bit inappropriate for me to be sinking pots down at the local pub with my kid in tow.
So do single mums meet super rad people hanging at the local park, pushing their kid on the swing for the 81st time or helping their kid do a bush wee?
It’s all just a little complicated, but then again so am I. Does this mean that every single person in their mid thirties has complications or dare I say it… ‘baggage’ or ghosts of relationships past?
I seem to be an over-communicator of all my problems which means I can chuck them in a bin once I’ve over-analysed the crap out of them with anyone who will listen. Does it still mean I have baggage if I’ve binned it? I’m hoping the only baggage I have remaining can be tucked into my bumbag.
It’s such a huge world out there of super cool adventures with my kid and my cool-as-hell pals, Perhaps there will be a little bit of extra room in there one day for a hairy Blundstone-wearing gent?
One thing I know is that I just can’t change my daggy ways – I think they might be pretty set, which means acceptance of my love of Ken Done, Australiana, John Candy movie marathons, non-stop chatter about pointless topics such as how much I dislike the design of the ‘classic’ toilet brush set (the brush never sits right in the cradle), and the fact that I have problems with sitting still, are all part of the package.
For the time being, the whole dating thing seems well and truly out of my daggy league. I’m super happy to look forward to my daily date at the dinner table with Alfred. Even if he doesn’t yet understand the full complexities of Warren and Kenny G or how to use a semi colon appropriately (it’s a moment, not a pause), he still provides entertaining conversation that can see me right into the evening (‘what did you do at kinder today? I mashed the dirt mum and then I painted and then I used scissors and chopped it until it was wrecked’)
I’m deeply in love with this kid of mine. And he loves me. So I think he’s the best date of all.