Single is the tits

Single is the tits
By Sheryl
Nefertiti being pressed for time has asked me to be her ‘guess blog’.
Asked is probably not the right word as Nef has a way of putting things that makes NO not an option.
According to her being single means I have time on my hands... My mum has the same idea. SHE recons ‘time on my hands’ is her passport to a 24 hour personnel assistant.
‘You can’t feel sorry for yourself if your arm is up a drain pipe,’ she says.
Feeling sorry for myself? Why would I feel sorry for myself? ...Being single is right up there with a good fish supper.
The only ring in the bath is my own- so no need to clean? And I can make a box of chocolates last as long as I want to; who’s going to know if it only took me a rerun of ‘Corrie’ (Coronation Street) to scoff the lot, even the hard ones ?
I am telling you single is the tits!’ Mum hates the words tits...Ironic really, as she swears like a butcher with tourettes attacking a sirloin on Christmas Eve.
My mum is the sort of mum best left at home. Any where public to her is an opportunity to point out eligible men in a voice that can be heard over a pneumatic drill. She’s the sort of person who thinks encouragement is listing you faults in order of preference.
‘Sheryl’ she says ‘You will never pull in a bra like that’; (Mum’s answer to everything is a good bra. Well that and a non stick pan.) ‘You couldn’t pull a cracker - even if a wrestler was attached to the other end.’
Well, the last thing I’d be doing with a wrestler is pulling crackers. And I told my mother so. We were in The Stables at the time; a pleasant cafe that can (according to Nefertiti) make Nescafe almost bearable.
When Martin left me for the ‘body that defied gravity’ I was as gutted a roll mop. But not now, I get out as much as possible - once I’ve put mum to bed.
I’ve been on a few dates, met a one eyed darts player from Cork. He had a great trick for putting his opponents of their aim. I met an army bloke at MacDonald’s whose idea of wit was to talk about his weapons of mass destruction.
Then there was the guy from the fish and chip shop whose idea of a ‘come on’ was to arrange two Scotch eggs and a battered sausage suggestively across my chips. I was impressed until I saw his pickled eggs. They were floating on the top of the jar like dead fish, a man with stale pickled eggs is a man best avoided no matter how artistic he can be with batter.
And of course there’s Shifty... he’s the barman at The Argyll; he is every woman’s dream barman. He’ll remember your drink; remember you favourite song and late at night when you’re feeling lonely, his toothless grin will stop you doing anything foolish.
Yes being single can be a happening state of affairs baring in mind that to cook for yourself is advised as is keeping your mother locked up; until you find another man that is...