Money and looks always attractive but poise and authority more so;

‘The persona of chivalry’

He/ she has:

An air of sociability and hospitality
Unrushed , calm and always has time
In control of life and never stressed
Naturally charming to everyone
Rarely loses temper and never in public
Can seemingly handle any situation
Is patient and left unruffled by lifes daily irritations Modest yet confident and cultivates an air of authority

By N.

James Preece – The Dating Guru

www.asiansinglesolution.com

Anyway, I had a pic posted of myself : I tried to find the most flattering pic I could, difficult job, as Im not blessed with being naturally photogenic, or <laughingly> naturally “anything”, everything requires effort.

This particular photo had me with long lovely hair. However, as we all know, (girls) one trip to the hairdressers can change that in a snip ! (You’ve got quite a few split ends, you know the usual hairdresser admonishments) Behold, my long lustrous mane was severely reduced to a short bob cut almost. Mortified, as I had a date, in a few days, I shrieked and freaked out on the phone to my friend, who furtively suggested donning a wig !

Where on earth am I going to get a wig I wailed. As friends go, she whipped out a wig .. don’t ask me how she had a wig in her closet ; lets not go there. Anyway, amidst much laughter in attempts to fit it … I decided to wear it. The day of the date, arrived. My dears, I strode into London on the tube, confident in my long lustrous WIG. I met up with my date at a suitable central location in London.

We propped ourselves on a bench, and dears, I was mortified to discover that my date, was staring incredulously at my hairline.

My eyes widened as I saw his eyes nearly popping out and I could feel the wig, was sliding backwards : it was so long, unknowingly, Id been sitting on it, causing the wig to slide, to reveal my own hairline. .. OMG ! I gasped and rattled an explanation – I just had to tell the truth, no matter how unladylike I was looking : my own hair  was appearing and looking very dishevelled, not to mention sweaty under that damn wig.

The date ended in riotous laughter and oodles of embarrassment on my part.

Never again.

Conclusion is, you go as you are, and no matter how or what you look like on the outside, if the other person is for real, and they like you for real, that’s what counts, not the length or breadth of your hair or any other part of you.

N

www.asiansinglesolution.com

If I had a pound for every time someone asked me why I was still single, I would be cruising around the Med in a luxury yacht with my harem of male Dolce and Gabbana models, most probably not giving a damn about my single status.

I agree on paper, it doesn’t quite add up.  I’m an attractive, professional, financially secure woman living in a large metropolis with an abundance of available and desirable men.  Or so you’d think.  But here I am, getting incredulous looks and raised eyebrows when I confess to being single at the ripe old age of 38.

Take the conversation I had with a minicab driver who drove me home after a boozy night out.  ‘How old are you?’ he asked, ‘38’ I replied.  ‘Oh my God, really?’ he said, with a forceful emphasis that I find African minicab drivers have down to perfection.  When he then learned that not only am I that old, but also single and childless, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.  ‘Oh dear, oh dear, 38 and still single.  And no children either.  Oh dear’ he repeated, shaking his head vigorously.  ‘Thanks a lot mate’ I think, but what am I supposed to say?  ‘Actually I’m a serial killer who’s killed all 5 of my husbands and buried them under the floorboards.’  Oh well, he did say he thought I looked a lot younger, although that might have been when he realised there was no chance of a tip otherwise.  Hmm.

I find the cruelest people are old distant relatives, and when you factor in that mine are Indian, it gets even worse.  They really know how to dig the knife in.  The most notable comment was from a wizened old crow who said ‘Older single women are like last week’s food rotting in the fridge.  No-one wants them any more.’  Well at least I don’t have whiskers growing out of my chin, grandma!

So, to answer the question once and for all, here’s my theory.  I don’t think I had any idea of who I was, and what I wanted, until I was well into my late twenties.  In fact, I cannot recognise the ‘me’ that I was before that time.  I have no doubt that whoever I may have married at that time would not suit me now.  Unless they also changed in the same way as I have done, i.e. beyond all recognition.

So, next thing I know I’m 38 and according to minicab drivers and old women, completely on the shelf.  Great.  I wouldn’t mind so much, but it’s not as though these people have fared much better.  As I said to the minicab driver ‘So how about you?’  He replied ‘Oh, I’m divorced’.

I wonder if any of these people can believe that this 38 year old single woman is quite happy with her lot.  Ok so I’m single, but I’m content.  So excuse me if I’m not spending every waking hour formulating a cunning plan to ensnare a man.  And then crying into my wine glass when it fails.

Don’t get me wrong, should a suitable man come along, I’m not going to turn him down.  I’ve accepted that my ‘meeting Mr Right’ phase is a bit later than the conventional standard.  I can even guarantee that he won’t say ‘she just wasn’t the person I thought she was’ a few years down the line.  Because I’ve already been through that.  And I was considerate enough to do it own my own, rather than whilst in a relationship.  I should be lauded rather than made to feel like a freak.

So next time I get the withering ‘So you’re still single’ look, I’m going to say ‘Yes, isn’t it great I’ve chosen to wait until the time is right.’  And you know, this shelf is not as uncomfortable as you might think!

R

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