All weekend long I’ve heard the creaking of floorboards from the flat above, the unfortunate sounds of a happy couple proving just how happy they are. In order to distract myself from the noises upstairs, and the inevitable thoughts of whether I’d always be the girl listening to other people have sex running through my head, I decided to revisit one of my favourite single girl pastimes: Sex and the City.
The fashion, friendship and pushing of boundaries in terms of introducing sex into mainstream television have meant I’ve had a livelong love for Sex and the City. As a Miranda though, I’ve always been able to watch it with both feet still firmly planted in reality: how do these women meet so many eligible bachelors wanting to whisk them away? From episode to episode, whether it be at the gym, the bookstore or the local coffee shop there’s always a tall, dark, handsome man just waiting to ask Carrie out for cocktails. Just this past week I visited my local Aldi twice and the most interaction I got from a man was accidentally touching his hand whilst we were both reaching for the avocados. This didn’t result in witty banter, a critique of what’s in my shopping basket and an eventual invitation for coffee, all I got was a withering glare and the last of the avocados – and that’s on a lucky day.
Is it unrealistic to expect that the right man is just waiting to do a Big and bump into me on the street or have years of no real success in the dating game turned me into a hardened cynic?