Nothing worse than a fool out of and in love

There is a certain vacancy in my life that has proven difficult to fill.

I had taken it for granted that it would be an easy task. Find a fine, likeable gentleman with good intentions to take the position permanently. But, if it were that simple I would have dispensed with being a one-woman show and registered a partnership by now.

It’s been quite a while since the last candidate was expelled for maladministration, abuse of power, mismanagement of resources and other indiscretions.

I might be exaggerating but it did feel as though I was paired up with love’s iniquitous twin brother. Looked like love, sure spoke like him, but only his wicked ways would tell them apart.

I will not pretend that the expulsion was smooth. Nor will I try and deny that I made various attempts to keep him in office and spin his scandals in a quest to appear unbreakable in public.

I have lost count of my defences and reasoned excuses when I had to account for his mischiefs. In the end, he left me emotionally bankrupt and nearing despair. It took a great deal of self-repair and remodelling to be able to move on.

Since his departure, various candidates have come through. Some expecting to reap benefits before the fulfilment of their probation. Some expecting to be found and tamed by a woman, any woman, only until they could go out in the wild again. A comedy of fools in love, with mostly themselves.

While I have not quite settled on the actual criteria for my search, I am certain that most failed to display an essential quality for the position – honesty.

I do not ask for sainthood or even sobriety for that matter. But I cannot imagine how a man would earn my trust while he prefers to leave his phone in the car when he has to see me. Worse, when the

‘ ‘ It is strange that disappointment inevitably breeds hope

fingers have expanded along with his waist size. That ring mark is permanent, even if you hide the metal piece in the cubbyhole.

One, for instance, had found me a great spot for moonlighting. The sort of fellow who only shows up at night, exhausted but eager for the sake of the benefits. The details of his days were privileged information that even speculation could not decipher.

I believed I had a good measure of patience. But a girl can only take so much mystery. Eventually I asked him to leave. I still wonder what all the fog was about. For all I know, he could have been a spy. The spy who shagged me!

Then there are the cases of referrals. A nightmare if you ask me. You can always bet on misrepresentation and sensationalism in all cases where friends and family try to intervene with their “you’ll love him” guy.

If he is not vertically challenged, he is an incurable idiot with a perverse sense of humour or, God forbid, a self-assured prick whose car is bigger than his sensibility.

And no, I will not love him! In fact, I will see exactly why nobody else does. But then again, he and I are in the same predicament.

It is strange that disappointment inevitably breeds hope in love. It is that hope that breeds loneliness. Some days I would stare at the mirror and wonder if it was visible to others. Do I look single and hopeful? The perfume? Maybe the length of my eye contact?

The reality is perhaps I do not even know what I am looking for.