I can assure you it's just a scratch.

So I've been thinking about the perusal of male affection. And I've been thinking, being single for a whole year in March and all, wow, that I'm bored and tired and have had enough of playing with the toys of 'The Love Game.' As the Ga Ga says, 'It's complicated and stupid, got my ass squeezed by sexy cupid.' Excluding the latter, which is drivel, it certainly is stupid. And most certainly a game.

Shall I text him?
Shall I wait approx. 4 hours to add him on facebook?
Shall I stalk him on said facebook?- Of course.
How shall I present my tone in the text?
Presumptuous?
Casual?
Officious?
Shall I put a kiss on the end?
Shall I not, to appear allusive?
Shall I ask to meet?
Shall I wait for him to ask me?
Shall I take my clothes off, rub baby oil on my lumps, take a picture and bluetooth it to him to make him want me?

Ya-de-ya-de-ya-da. Bull. Back in the day, when all was good and true, there was no text. There was no facebook, tool of the demons, or digitalisation, or Heelies. There was just two faces, two voiceboxes and awkward eye contact. Oh to go back to a time when a man actually courted a woman. I'm romanticizing, I know, but all this unreal interweb microwave cowardly communication and all its stupid rules is fundamentally odd.

Maybe I'm just old fashioned? Well. I know I'm old fashioned, it's stitched onto my palms like ring worm, but I would love to just meet a guy, find ourselves mutually attracted and get the hell on with it. In my mind, each futile text is a building brick, each facebook 'poke' a slather of cement and each MSN 'nudge' a foundation to the Anti Human Communication Wall. Which ultimately leads to dry conversation and mindless shagging. Explains a lot, right?

I've been swirling around in a washing machine mind on repeat. I've been finding the seams in my seamless soul and wondering what is wrong. But, in reality, when I disregard self-esteem and the need to be modest, I know that I'm not unattractive. I have 2 arms. And 2 legs. Bonus. I have two eyes that are almost the same size and a nose that doesn't eat my face like a blood hungry leech. My ears don't stick out. I am not fat and I am not skinny. My hair could do with work but I am paying the price of impatience and I've dealt with it. I'm tall, but hey, whenever was that a sin? I am able bodied and I'm not obsessively into cattle production or The Chronicles of Narnia, meaning, I am not a single minded bore. So what's the issue?

There's this cliché which I shall resentfully repeat, I can't abide cliché, that goes 'When you stop looking, he will find you.' Oh hai! Thanks! So if you naturally want something with all your body and heart you simply have to order your mind to give up! Simples! (Meerkat referencing, the shame.) It's impossible. It's like telling a moth to stop seeking the light, like telling a dog to stop licking its arse hole. I am being totally hyperbolic but hey, it's all such a joke.

Ultimately, in this labyrinth of do or don't, within this rule book of shall I/shan't I, is the irrevocable truth that there is no escaping it. Modern times dictate that I'll meet my match on e-harmony.com, get married, hold the wedding reception in the town hall with a disco DJ, get hideously drunk to hide the fact that I've always been sure I'd make matrimony with Robert Patterson and end up smashing my Nan in the face with the bottom tier of the wedding cake.

Sweet.