Love is in the air, tra la la. Doesn’t it make you sick? If Valentine’s Day wasn’t bad enough, for some reason I appear to be surrounded by happy couples. Everywhere I go people seem to have partnered up willy-nilly, with absolutely no regard for my mental wellbeing. How the hell did that happen?

There’s my brother and his missus – can’t keep their hands off one another, and after being together for more than ten years too, that’s enough to turn your stomach; my friends Nic and Celia – as happy as larks and having plenty of mind-blowing sex, damn them; Denise and Andy; Olivia and Peter; Paddy and Orla; Tom and David; even God’s Gift to Women™ has got himself a girlfriend and is happily wooing her with homemade three-course meals and general good-guy behaviour.
It’s not that I’m bitter – well maybe a little bit – but mostly I am happy for them. It’s just, well, it would be kinda nice to feel that way myself. Relationships, frankly, can be a bit of a pain in the backside, but it sure is fun being in love.
Love, of course, is a rather dangerous undertaking. It’s starts off innocently enough – staring into one another’s eyes, long phone conversations and lots and lots of sex – but if you’re not careful, before you know it, you’ll be living in middle of Ballygobackwards with three screaming babies, drinking vodka at four in the afternoon and wondering where the hell your life went. Or maybe that’s my own particular fear. Still, you can’t beat the high of those wonderful first moments.
In fairness though, despite my cynicism, I quite like being in a relationship, with the proviso that the person sharing the relationship with me isn’t too much like hard work. I like orgasms, not arguments. At times it is pleasant to have a lovely man about the place, someone with whom you can share meals, troubles and your bed. Especially the bed – the whole regular sex thing is not a bonus to be passed up lightly. Plus I am a bit of a cuddler – don’t tell anyone. But at the moment I just don’t have the time.
I did the silliest thing last year – I went back to university. My course is full-time, and between studying and work I’ve barely had fifteen minutes for myself, let alone anyone else. Sex may be easy to come by, especially if you are female; but a relationship takes time and effort, neither of which I have to spare.
Given this, I decided that this Valentine’s Day I would treat myself to a crush – a proper teenage one, with lots of heartfelt sighing and unrequited lust. This would be the perfect compromise – I’d have someone to have romantic dreams about on the bus, and filthy ones when alone, but without any of the hassle.
What I didn’t reckon on was that finding someone to be infatuated with presents a few hurdles. Although I wanted it to be unsullied by the reality of another human being, I didn’t want to forego the possibility of changing my mind. After all, that’s a woman’s prerogative and we have few enough of those!
I considered my friends. Despite being HP’s sex columnist, which in certain quarters paints me as an irredeemable slapper, I actually have plenty of platonic male friends. If I were to develop a crush on anyone, a friend would do nicely.
The trouble with platonic friends is that you don’t think of them in a sexual way – hence the term platonic. Although here I again reserve the right to change my mind, especially since I’ve done this more than once, as I explained to Joseph.
“I can be a little blind,” I told him, “Then one day, after being friends with someone for ages, I’ll realise how very interesting, sexy and attractive they really are.”
“I hope you’re talking about me,”
he said.
“Well, naturally,” I answered. “What can I say – the heart wants what the heart wants.”
We both burst out laughing at the idea. Joseph is indeed interesting, sexy and attractive, but he’s gay. And while I like gay men, there’s no point having a crush on one.
Not being able to come up with a suitable short-list off the top of my head, I turned to Facebook since a good number of my friends are collected there. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a huge amount of help. The problem, I realised, was me – I was too fastidious. I didn’t want to have a crush on A because I was fond of his girlfriend; B was lovely, but perhaps a bit too sweet; C was no good either – I’d known him too long and I just couldn’t think of him in even a vaguely sexual way.
Not being the kind of woman who gives up at the first hurdle I decided to put the power of social networking to good use and asked for suggestions or volunteers. One friend offered his services, but being based in South Africa, I thought he was a bit far away. To really add to the intensity of a crush, it’s preferable to pick someone who is just beyond your reach, not several thousands of kilometres away.
Another offered to be my partner in misery. “I was thinking the exact same thing this week!” he typed. “Maybe we could have midnight calls and endless chats about how much we obsess about our respective crushes, and how little sleep we get while we cling to our phones waiting for a text! I miss intense crushes...”
I miss them too. I haven’t sighed hopelessly over a man for a long time now. When I was younger I was incredibly shy, but these days I am a pro-active sort of girl. If I want someone I’ll flirt and finagle my way into their notice. Secondly, I tend to like people who respond positively to me. On the rare (very rare!) occasions where they don’t, I lose interest.
The next evening I got chatting to a friend of a friend when it hit me – he was lovely. Smart, funny and sexy in a kind of geeky way. He was perfect crush material! Possibly a little too perfect as the whole unrequited lust thing began to lose its charm.
I was wondering if it was time to do some serious flirting when he asked me a question.
“What are you doing on Saturday night?”
Let’s see – working, catching up on my course reading, seeing a friend for dinner, a band later and a million other things.
“Nothing definite,” I replied.
“Great,” he said giving me a beaming smile. “My girlfriend is having a party. Sean’s coming, you should come too.”
Aargh! Damn! Happily attached couples – I can’t escape them.