Window Shopping

I hate to post without a little eye-candy for you, but I haven't managed to get my camera out in the daylight in a while, and the cat refused to sit still for long enough to let the autofocus do its thang, so here we are. It's Tuesday night, I am washing woolens in the sink, I had dinner with friends, I watched a parade of cute boys walk and cycle down the streets outside the bar, I drank one Guinness. I came home.

I called Boywich and discovered he's off to vegas to meet with a woman he expects to sleep with. I suppose that is the proper place to do that, particularly since she will be cheating on a spouse. But it is a depressing sort of thing to hear about when one has spent the evening watching boys who are not particularly watching me - or if they are watching, are not doing anything other than look. And then there is the whole lack of boy email and nothing doing on the online profiles, and while it is all very good for knitting, it is not very good for the ego and general outlook on life.

And then I think, I oughtn't to complain, since some people have real problems on their plates at the moment. But there you have it - this is my blog, and that is what is on my mind.

My hands smell like Kookaburra, which I always want to call Eucalan because it is so redolent of eucalyptus.

I got an interesting email today from the fair Juno speculating that the older we get, the more flexible our possible relationships with people are. And though I wrote back to her that I think I was more flexible about such things when I was in college (when everybody seemed to sleep with friends and think nothing of it), I now think that maybe I was too hasty to brush that notion aside. I am certainly more willing to entertain a larger spectrum of involvement than I once used to.

I put it down to having developed my own notions of what I want from a man (in my case), rather than operating entirely on received expectations about what love is, means, and ought to give me.

I realize I am being exceptionally wordy, even for me, and I suppose it is because I am finding this hard to describe. Perhaps some specificity would help. I no longer expect - or even want - to find one true love whom I will marry and live Happily Ever After with. And yet, I used to imagine that was what I wanted - and perhaps would even find, eventually.

Of course, experience has shown me that men who are even approximate matches for me don't grow thick on the ground. Okay, they don't exist at all. Don't get that sad little pity face on, now. I am not bemoaning this, believe it or not. At the moment, all I really want is some chemistry, some fun, some playfulness, some exuberance, with someone who is trustworthy and yet daring enough to be the right sort of playmate for me. I have plenty of soulmates to keep me company, and they are called friends.