I was rummaging through some old things the other day, when I came across an old article I wrote a few years ago.

Thought I would dust it off and give it an airing -

“The trials and tribulations of the single thirty-something male…”

I have a problem. Some of the more acerbic females out there may quip that its being male. Such venomous humour. But not altogether a million miles away from the point of this little cry of desperation.

I’m 31, soon to be 32 this year. Not a bad age when all is said and done. The mistakes of my younger years are behind me. The experience that has bought is with me now. And I’m still young enough and lively enough to combine the two in the future. In my prime you might say. However, I’m single. Yes, okay, put those damn violins away. I don’t really mind too much. C’est la vie. Admittedly on occasion I do feel as though I’d want a partner. But not for the sake of having a partner. I mean, I don’t need anyone, but I’d gladly want somebody in my life because I wanted them, not just to have anybody.

I’m not bad looking. Just about have all my own teeth – although they look to be on the way out. No grey hairs. Funny, intelligent, warm, kind and quite sweet really. Oh, and modest. I have my faults, who doesn’t? All in all though, with as much modesty as a statement like this can convey, not a bad catch.

Now when you reach my age there’s usually only one of three reasons why you’re single:

1) Lets skip over the ‘pc’ approach shall we – you’re a bit of a moose. A loser. Unattractive both physically and personally. I don’t think I need to elaborate/
2) You’re a Ladiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeessssss man. Oh yeah baby.
3) You’re divorced / separated / had your heart ripped out, burnt, shredded, put in a blender, frozen, then hurled off a high cliff. Or it just didn’t work out. Whatever.

Therein lies one of our problems gentlemen. We’re labelled. We might as well have a big tattoo on our foreheads saying which tribe we belong to. A human video rental shop, ready for the ladies of the world to browse at whim.

Now that’s not an ideal situation for us males. We’re already on the back foot as it is, reaping the punishment of years of chauvinism. Problem two: The female of the species has long been (rightly) liberated. It is their time. The tables have turned and the power balance has shifted. Women are revolting. I don’t mean physically. Well, some of them are.

The odds are stacking up already my friends, and I’ve not even finished yet. Queasy reading isn’t it? Would you like to take a break? Get some fresh air? Hyperventilating yet?

They say that men are from Mars and women are from Venus. I don’t much hold with that line of thought, for in the main, deep down we both want the same things. To be loved, to love, to enjoy our life, give and be given respect. We may go about it in different ways but we want the same outcome. The way we communicate that IS a problem though. ‘He doesn’t understand me’, ‘She always moans’, ‘He doesn’t listen’, ‘I don’t know what she wants’ etc. Nodding in shameful recognition yet are we? I should think so too. You should be ashamed of yourselves.

I’m a modern man, quite realistic. Definitely in touch with my feminine side (stop sniggering at the back). Those first two obstacles (being categorised and the rise of the woman) don’t faze me too much. For one, I’m in category 3 but without the huge emotional scars. I’ve got a small scratch on my knee, but its barely noticeable. Secondly, I quite like the domineering woman. Okay, moving swiftly on…

It’s this next one that makes me have to wash far too many pairs of pants (you see, I told you I wasn’t a bad catch – I wash my clothes). It’s a no win situation. It’s the proverbial mother of all conundrums to solve. A great big see-saw. I don’t like to say this, but it’s mostly your fault fellas. Yes you. Let me explain…

We’ve established that men of my age generally fall into one of 3 categories. It stands to reason that when looking for an ideal woman, that they will also have their own little tribes:

1) See 1) above. Sorry, but the truth hurts.
2) The female equivalent of the Ladiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeessssss man. The slut.
3) You’re happily married

Okay, so that’s three categories already eliminated. The odds are now very bad:

4) You’re divorced / separated / had your heart ripped out, burnt, shredded, put in a blender, frozen, then hurled off a high cliff. Or it just didn’t work out. Whatever.

Do you see the problem yet? These poor, poor women have dedicated most of their adult life so far to loving one of you scoundrels. Perhaps given up work to have children (or never worked). Cooked and cleaned after you. Tried in vain to turn you into something vaguely resembling a civilised human being. Possibly put up with your wandering eye. Undoubtedly put up with many a drunken escapade. The football, the lads nights. And lets not even go there when it comes to indulging in your filthy depraved perversions (“If you loved me you would…”). Until one day, one or many of the above broke the camels back.

A woman in her early thirties who is separated or divorced is like a born again Christian. A butterfly emerging from their cocoon. Ready to spread their wings and fly away into the beautiful wide world…whilst you’re still the caterpillar. And that’s all they’ll see. Rediscovering their independence; do you really think you stand much chance of any of these women wanting to settle for a caterpillar when there’s a whole group of butterflies out there? Exactly.

They’re too busy going out with their friends. That in itself snowballs the problem. Four or five women together, all lamenting on wasting their prime on you. A whole network of moral support. Safety in numbers, terror for you. Do you recognise these women yet? I’m not saying it’s wrong – it actually makes sense: you don’t want to get hurt again. You want people around that can be trusted. Anything you do is because you want it. No more being moaned to about being on the phone for an hour. And being able to own as many cushions as you like.

It leaves us scratching our heads though. How on earth do we get round this one? Trying to find a woman in your age range who isn’t going to be part of the Sex & The City cult. Let’s take a case study – you’ve been married for years, together for about ten, kids, house, and mortgage, probably a cat. It all goes wrong. He didn’t appreciate you. He cheated. He started buying valentines cards for his Playstation and not for you. Break-up follows. Heartache. Stress. Unhappiness. The inevitable money and house tug-of-war.

Fast forward to when it all calms down and things are settled. You begin to be happy again. You’ve developed a steely resolve that’s so tough it could be used as armoured jackets in warfare. Your girlfriends have been a rock; they’ve been there. Wine night’s follow; girlie nights; the gym. Casualty can now be watched without the guilt. And let’s not forget the cushions. Life is quite rosy – you’re independent. ‘Why on earth did I ever stop doing all of this with my friends?’ you ask yourself.

Cue Mr Single Thirty-something. Is he going to be able to get you to go through all of that again? It’s doubtful – your priorities have changed. You’ve already got the house, the car, had the children and the scar to prove it. Your first love has given you all those things you ever wanted, and now that he has given you a lot of other things you never wanted, it’s going to take a hell of a lot for you to let someone else in.

Unless you’re a serial bunny boiler, in which case can I direct you to category number one of my fellow males?

I’ll finish by explaining the see-saw conundrum: With a see-saw there’s always going to be an imbalance, which explains why whenever the single thirty-something male sits on one they are right at the bottom feeling small. It’s very hard to catch the attention of the woman at the other end when she’s riding so high up the top and doesn’t want to come back down. It’s a long drop to take and can be quite frightening…