I’ve recently been back in touch with a very old friend via Facebook.
I used to be very close to this person, and he knows i have some mental health issues, so I was surprised and bemused when after some general chit chat about how life has been for me of late, to received the following missive:
Read this and thought of you.
Maybe you should try this out as from what I can tell from Facebook, you still make exceedingly good cakes 😉
“I tried baking my way to romance”
‘Audrey Shulman was good at baking but less confident talking to men. She decided the way to a man’s heart might be cake – and her whole life changed’
Essentially, in a nutshell, this courageous young lady, desperate for a boyfriend, hit on the idea of using her baking to pull, and committed to baking 50 cakes, and taking them to 50 different LA bars in the hope that the numbers game would pay off and she would happen upon her other half.
Bless Jamie, the old romantic.
Aww, dontcha just love the normal folk who think that the answer to all life’s problems is getting a boyfriend/girlfriend and finding true lurve?
I don’t mean to tease, I honestly don’t.
Do people really think that the bone aching, excoriating loneliness of someone with BDP/depression (or any other alienating condition) who has never, nor will never, ever fit in, and feels like an alien on their own planet can be cured by romance?
To be honest, I am really going through the mill right now in nearly all aspects of my life, group therapy is twanging on my last frayed nerve, so I would not inflict myself on my worst enemy, let alone some poor, hapless bloke.
As for sex, I am no where near trusting enough to allow anyone access to my body.
Also, jiggy jiggy is not a cure all!
My father used to have this rather horrible saying about physical relations, which went along the lines of…
‘Sex might fill your belly, but it won’t fill his!’
…the old charmer (is it any wonder I’m so fucked up?!), which roughly translated means that sex isn’t everything, and you have to be cautious and practical and not get carried away by chemistry.
In other words, ‘Don’t get knocked up, or you’ll not have a room under this roof young lady, so you better hope that laughing boy has a job y’hear?’.
But believe me, it could only ever be a minor distraction when you have a huge hole at the core of your heart that needs to be filled with some kind of self love and self belief, and it must be healed before you can even consider unleashing yourself upon the males of this world.
But he, Jamie that is, meant well. it’s not his fault he’s lovely, loved and loved up, as opposed to fucked up.
So I replied:
A) Cute article thanks for thinking of me!
B) Hell, no
This is mainly because:
1. I have very little trust in you penis owners, and have been this way all of my life, but I am however working my way through these issues *
2. In my experience, men do prefer savouries. In this respect your predilection to pink, iced bakes is unusual. Anything to tell me there, Twinkle?!
3. I want to be liked for myself and not be some bloke’s cakey come up, thank you v much!
* platonic winkies are fine, so stop tucking it between your legs, you look like Buffalo Bill!
That said, as most of you know, I love baking for friends and loved ones once they’ve made a place in my heart. But this privilege has to be earned!
Ladies, would you go offering your coochie for free in your local pub? No?
Like it says in the Bible “Do not cast your pearls before swine, lest they gobble them up like starved dogs, burp, then turn back to their 6th pint of swill and ‘Match of the Day’ with nary a backwards glance, the ungrateful b******s”
Or something like that anyway.
I also don’t believe in hunting for a mate.
The proof of the pudding is that this lady did not find true love via ‘cake barring’ (and she’s young and pretty!), but she did meet someone when she was least expecting it. Oh and she also landed a book deal, which, as David Dickinson might say, was the real deal, as far as I’m concerned. 🙂
Finally there are worse things than being single; this credo was fortified and embedded even deeper into my psyche after witnessing my friend’s fiancee (a distinguished Head of Chemistry at a very prestigious college no less) throw a 5 door slamming tantrum that would make a 3 year old blush with shame, ruining her birthday party, and causing everyone to leg it as soon as they’d finished their last drink.
Except for me that is. I’d had too much to drink to drive home, hence was stuck with the pathetic little fuck for the rest of the evening.
How I held my tongue, i’ll never know.
And you best believe that the next morning at 6.30am I was up and outta there, and 60 minutes later, at home luxuriating in a fragrant moisturising bath, with a nice cuppa, some soothing music and two happy purring kitties, who were very pleased to have their momma back so early.
Seriously. Is there anything worse than warring couples? And why do they save their scraps for their single friends to witness? Do they consider it entertainment?
Who needs that shit? If I’m not getting the benefits of a loving partner, I certainly don’t want to share the down side, so unless your beloved is going to service me, pick me up from the airport after a holiday, take out my trash, take me out Valentines Day, bring me breakfast in bed and paint my ceiling, you can keep the horrible stuff to yourself!
As for sex, Madame Sertraline has all but killed that urge off for me, so when a very cute rugby player half my age tried to come home with me the other day ‘For dinner and “afters”‘, I laughed and gently declined.
Did he honestly think I was going to stuff him? Sorry, typo, I meant, did he honest think I was going to stuff him with carbs out of gratitude because he’s younger and prettier than me?
Sorry hon. Even before i was drugged up to the eyeballs, sympathy fucks have never been an aphrodisiac to me.
But one day I’ll be better and maybe the universe will provide a kind, funny, ethical, passionate chap to share the rest of my journey with.
And you best believe, when he does finally rock up, he certainly won’t starve!