You Make My Date

"That's enough," my flatmate James declared yesterday at our weekly Sunday brunch. "You are the biggest Double D I have ever seen."

To anyone else, this may sound like either:
a) I'm breastedly blessed or
b) James is a pervert.

While b) is certainly true (and a) unfortunately isn't), his reference reveals something much, much worse.

I am apparently a Dating Disaster.

Jay and Nick, my two other housemates, paused halfway between passing the orange juice to look at James quizzically, so he continued. "Doesn't anyone else think there's something horribly wrong with the fact that our gorgeous, smart, witty girl here, can't for the life of her find the right guy?"

"I'm not trying to find the right guy!" I protested. "I'm young, and happy with my awesome single life."

"Uh huh," James said, with a smug tone that instantly raised warning bells. "A girl like you is so happy with her awesome single life that she brings home books like," here he paused to reach under the kitchen table to reveal a few paperback novels, "'The Maverick and the Maiden', or 'The Viscount in her bedroom', or my all time favourite…"

I lunged across the table with a yelp of outrage, but James easily leaned backwards in his chair, out of reach. "Ah, here we go: 'The Siren and the Stud'…Oh Sa-ra," he sing-songed, "I'm sorry I was mistaken for you wanting a relationship, based on all these trashy romance novels you try to hide at the bottom of our laundry basket."

I stared in dismay as he tossed my library books onto the kitchen table for all to see; the covers depicting swooning women in men's arms, looking even seedier than the boys' dirty underpants they had been carefully hidden under.

"You ARSEHOLE!" I shouted, over Nick's chortles and Jay's baffled question asking what a Viscount was. Despite my burning face, I laughed as well. It's a given that when living with three guys, every part of your life is as exposed as Janet Jackson's bosom.

"Well so far, you have been useless when it comes to finding the man of your dreams. However, Uncle James here has discovered a solution. As you never take our perfectly reasonable advice, I think you should start a voting system on the Internet and let the public decide your moves when it comes to the dating game."

"What the f-"

"Pretty radical, but it could work. Maybe other people are better at helping you make your dating decisions than us," Jay interrupted thoughtfully.

Nick shook his head, attention still focused on his Financial Review. "It sounds idiodic. This recession should prove that you don't let the market dictate your actions…" (He's a wanker investment banker).

"Thank you!" I started to shout with relief.

"It's true that you're getting kind of old Sara," he continued offhandedly, thumbing through the paper. "You're almost a Christmas Cake after Christmas."
For those of you who don't have the pleasure of knowing my flatmates, "Christmas Cake after Christmas" refers to women who are over the age of 25 (the date of Christmas), deemed past their expiry date.
For those of you who are wondering, I'm 22.

So that's why I'm here now, with my blog youmakemydate.

Because that's what is going to happen. Every time something happens on my boy scene, I will post it up on my blog (which is found under my profile page), and (with the help of my flatmates) provide various possible options for you, the reader, to vote on at my blog. If you'd like to suggest your own option(s), you are more than welcome to. I will then do what the majority votes on, and give you all an update after.

I'm doing this really as a social experiment, particularly as I enjoy learning about other people's views on relationships and seeing what works (and what doesn't). However, I am not going to use people's real names on this blog, for the protection of their privacy, as well as my own.

You make my date.
Let's just hope my huge DDs will be less exposed than Janet's boobs.