DATEAHOLICS ANONYMOUS

Addiction. Obssession. Compulsion. No, not ridiculous names for over-priced perfume, but words that perfectly describe my current state of mind.

It’s high time I checked into rehab.

But the very idea of going cold turkey brings me out in a sweat. And how could I possibly escape? Even if they wrestled my beloved laptop off me and confiscated the iPhone that’s permanently welded to my hand I’d still be able to get on the internet at work. And that’s 9 solid hours of access to my drug of choice. Yes folks, my name is (well, you know what my name is but I’m not writing it down here in case any men I’ve dated google me) and I am a DATEAHOLIC.

You know you’re a dateaholic when:

You check your email between alarm snoozes in case someone ‘favourited’ you while you slept.

Your ugly mug is posted on no less than 3 dating websites at any given time.

You ‘relaunch’ yourself on a dating site and the old familiar faces (of people you have never met) feel like friends.

And it’s at this point you find me, slumped and shivering in a corner (quite literally for those of you who have seen me at my desk on a Friday afternoon) casting around for my next fix. It doesn’t help that I’m kind of in between sites at the moment. I’ve been MSF clean for a month now, Guardian Soulmates isn’t working for me anymore and Eharmony was heavily cut with ugly people. In fact the most enjoyment I had from that site was filling out the survey about why I was cancelling my subscription.

But the drug keeps calling me so while I try to find an untapped vein I’ll take anything to keep the withdrawal at bay. I guess that’s how in the last couple of weeks I’ve dated Pube-Arms, Lady-Fingers man. And Teeny Tiny Shoulders boy or was he Extra Large Head boy? I couldn’t decide. And how last night I came to reply to an email that was sent to me no less than 2 ½ months ago, in a desperate bid to dull the craving. I’m seeing him on Sunday (it’s not a good sign is it? He should have told me to sod off). Which should just about see me through while I hone my new MSF profile in anticipation of a fresh delivery of class A men. And if that doesn’t work? I guess I may have to try real life again. Or there’s always speed dating!