The cats and the spinster

It's time to look for a man. I've been kind of single from before Christmas. New priorities and lack of time meant it had to end. Recently I've become absolutely fixated with James MacAvoy.  He shares some similarities ex. It's time to put that fixation to bed. So I've signed myself up for every dating website I know about Plenty of Fish Tinder  OK Cupid Match.com BBW Cupid BBW Romance Elite Singles. At first I put on my reasonable requirements. 5'8" Slim build At least degree level (really it didn't matter as long as they could string a sentence together) Likes cats Has hair and I don't mind beards. No. Nothing.  With my most basic requirements they came up with nothing.  I am searching for a unicorn. Most of the sites cost money if you want to actually interact with people.  Which is good because it weeds out, what one contact called, the 'knobs'.  But I don't have any money.  Seriously.  Bones of my arse....

I love the word spinster.  It's one of the words I want to reclaim.  That's and a lot of words that have fallen out of use. Like peculiar and the proper use of suffix -ly.  You know I heard an academic drop the -ly this morning.  It seems destined for the grammar bin. Anyway, I'm a spinster with three cats. Spot who is terrified of humans apart from me when I lie down. Esther who rules the household with an iron paw and sneezes a lot. Mally who seemed to be dropped on me from a great height, but is really loving and playful despite the fact that he should be well out of his teen age years. So that makes me the archetypal middle aged woman.  The one that people joke about - see Jane Austen's Emma. I'll be crocheting antimacassars  next. No next I'm going to find a man. I'm not looking for marriage or to move in with me.  All I want is someone to be pleased to go out with me and have sex occasionally.  This is proving to be hard work. I...