HI, my name is Caroline, I’m thirty seven, divorced and looking for that special someone to share the ups and downs of life with. If you are tall dark and handsome. give me a nudge.
“Well, what do you think?”
“I think DURR! Is that the best you can do? where’s the promise, the come and get me I’m yours big boy.. Honestly Caro, use your imagination! and while we are at it why on earth did you use that photo? it’s years old, it’s nothing like you. Blonde highlighted mullets went out with the eighties. And those shoulder pads, YUK! The only bloke you’ll pull with that picture is the weirdo with the Joan Collins fetish in Jackson Street!.”
“Amy, that’s so mean! I always thought Caro looked dead cute with those little blonde streaks and anyway we all had shoulder pads back then.. They were very…… Cutting edge.”
“cutting edge in nineteen eighty nine maybe but this is two thousand and seven and we aren’t teenagers any more.” Amy replied.
“Ok then, I give up, come on then. If you both think you can do better than that be my guest, it took me ages to get that far.” Caroline huffed. “it’s a lot harder to sell my self than I thought. I read a few lonely hearts in the paper, some of them were really grim. I mean, look at this.” Caroline grabbed the paper and began rifling through the Clarion until she came to the ‘Find A Friend’ section..
“Listen to this one,.. Fun loving female, 29 years. Attractive and busty. Own house and car… What does that say to the average dirty minded male?” she looked at her friends Amy and Louise. “in pervy male speak it’s saying I’m a tarty bimbo with a shag pad and big norks up for dirty fun! And what about this one , she continued, Fit and flirty nurse seeks your company. Wonder how many replies she gets that include the offer of the use of their thermometers? I just want to sound a little less, she paused, searching for the right word.. ‘Dirty’.”
“And what exactly is wrong with being a little dirty?” Amy questioned, stretching out a long denim clad leg and winking at Louise who was nodding knowingly in her direction.
“Your problem Caro my love is that you were married to Plankton head far too young and far too long. It’s time to grow up, throw your proverbial knickers to the wind and climb on the Nooky train to Funville!” Amy deepened her voice suggestively, waggled an imaginary cigar and drawled.. “Come on little lady, it’s a fun ride”.
“Eww that’s so corny”, Caroline exclaimed as her friends rolled around on the sofa screaming with laughter before joining them. She uncorked a bottle of red wine and poured them all a glass. “Ok then, now you know why I don’t think I can do this without your help. I honestly haven’t a clue, I don’t want to get it wrong. There’s only one thing worse than attracting perverts and that’s attracting no one. Do I tell them the unvarnished truth and turn them off in droves, or do I use just a tiny bit of artistic license.. You know , a little bit more than mother Theresa and a bit less than Marta Hari?”
Louise leaned over and grabbed Caroline’s hand and squeezed. “What’s wrong with just being you? You are lovely Caro, why can’t you see it? you’re loyal, faithful, kind..”
“Yeah”, interjected Caroline, Wouldn’t I make a good Labrador!”
“Stop it, you didn’t let me finish, I was going to say, intelligent and funny.
“And don’t forget dumpy, four eyed and divorced”. Caroline once again interrupted, wallowing somewhat in self pity.”Thirty seven is almost forty. That’s me, I’ll be a portly forty never been F… Well, it feels like it anyway she trailed off somewhat sheepishly catching the disapproving glares of her friends.
“Oh for goodness sake, will you stop it.” Said Amy disgustedly. “Don’t be such a drip. You might not be a Double Zero but you are hardly a walrus either. Any way, apart from David Beckham, the only men who like their ladies that thin are the fashion designers and most of them go home to their boyfriends. Real men want real women with curves, not angles. Turn out the lights and get the skinny birds naked and I bet more than one bloke has got to grips with a pimple on her back thinking he was nipple twiddling..” She put down her glass, as usual taking charge of the situation. “Gimme that photo album, we are going to find a flattering picture if it kills us.
“And if we can’t” interrupted Louise ferreting around in her copious brown handbag and finally producing and triumphantly waving her camera, “we will just take a new one”.
“I’m not having my picture taken looking like this,” Caroline recoiled in horror gazing at the camera in Louise’s hand. “I’m not prepared”, she wailed.