"When will I find my own Mr Darcy"

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman of single consequence will want her life to mirror that of Elizabeth and Mr Darcy.
It's the love story that has defined generation after generation. Whilst Jane's immortal words may be slowly replaced by; *snapchat*' waiting with my cock out', even the most belligerent of us wish for romance. However on reflection this may not be the best idea for someone of my behaviour.
The day starts with me trying to force my rolls into my corset. Luckily they are not over baked because just showing my ankle would brand me a prostitute. So my rolls are neatly tucked away like a vacuum pack of six Frankfurters.
Now as many people will know I meet Mr Darcy at a dance where he insults me.
"Er excuse me, not handsome enough to tempt you? First of all handsome? Whilst the dictionary may define it as a general term of beauty, we all know it's a man thing. Therefore I can only assume that you are gay and hate that I am lacking in beard and masculine features. Well fuck you because even if I was a man I wouldn't want to be with a man who looks like he's both appalled by the smell and fighting back vomit as he scrapes shit off his shoe". Stuck up snob.
As the year progresses we spend more time getting to know each other. I remain indignant, after all he is a miserable snob. He insults everyone, hates my shoe diving mother and I swear I saw him staring at Bingley's bum. However he declares that against his better judgement he is in love with me.
Narcissistic bastard. I'm not going to be his beard. OK so he might be straight but the fact that he wants to be with someone who hates him doesn't bode well. There weren't stilletos in those days but there were plenty of riding crops. What a nutter. I can't use my usual lines, if I say I'm a lesbian I'll be publicly flogged and everyone will see my butt freckle.
"So you tell me you love me against your better judgement. Well I am the only one who judges me ..... and also you. I judge you as a nutter so fudge off"
Did they have fudge in Georgian England?
A letter describes his emotions and past actions. Whilst it is completely lacking in comedy I'm gutted to find his writing is better than mine. His name is Fitzwilliam?! Turns out there is some comedy.
Whilst time goes by I reflect on this letter with a single thought in my mind 'did I make a mistake? He is rich'
Unfortunately the diary I published under a false name becomes known as mine. Having made such horrendous comments on sea monsters, discussed lizard men and for fear of vomitgate: the sequel, I am thrown to the funny farm. Let's face it, I'm lucky not to have been arrested for exposure of my nettle stung butt.
However let us remember this is Darcy, he would never forget me. Upon hearing that I have been released to private supervision my heart swells. I run to the carriage wanting to be with my Darcy. I throw myself into the carriage .........
......
.....
*sigh*
"Hello stalker boy"

Wank sock or wank towel?

Unfortunately within the last year most of my male attention has come from one main source; Stalker boy. I don't think he was christened as that but the name depoll has got his file waiting.
There is one way to create a stalker: be nice during a break-up. I have already revealed my fail safe ways to end a relationship, make it brutal and be honest. 'I'm breaking up with you because I would gladly play Russian roulette with a cyanide capsule and an m 'n' m rather than kiss you again'.
When I broke up with stalker boy I was going through a time in my life where I was trying to be a better person...... it didn't last.
Having been away for two weeks the stalker was keen to see me and rapped on my door the minute I got back. At that point my rose tinted glasses suffered their peril. It was possibly the radioactive sheen of his 'too long un-dyed' hair, or the stench of joop aftershave that had been thrown on to cover up the cigarette smell. As we headed into the flat my mind was made up. I started running  through my head:
'your after shower naked dance only accentuates your tiny penis'. Why do men insist on dancing naked, waggling their penis in your face? Is it supposed to be attractive? Wait did stalker boy just pull out a present?!
He brought me shoes. I'm about to break up with a man who had spent a good £80 on shoes. Crap. I better try and be nice.

ONE HOUR LATER

YES. I broke up with someone in a grown up, adult manner. I expressed my feelings clearly without resorting to insult and it all went smoothly. BEEP BEEP.

*Changed your mind yet?*
oh crap!

ONE WEEK LATER

*Still not changed your mind yet?*
Why would I have changed my mind, why? You lick teeth when you kiss. It's gross. If you want to taste my teeth put Macleans with your chips.

ONE MONTH LATER

*I ran out of the deodorant I used to leave at your place, such a sad start to the day :(*
I can not express how pathetic that text is. You have come an office joke. Whenever we run out of something we say "such a sad start to the day".

SIX WEEKS LATER

*Hey how are you? I miss you*
Well I don't miss you. I do not miss having to endure the conversation with your mates where you compared having a wank towel to a wank sock.

ANOTHER TWO MONTHS LATER

*Hey was thinking of stopping by. Why don't we meet up and have a coffee. Miss you really bad*
I really don't miss discovering the sock under your bed.

EIGHT FUCKING MONTHS AFTER THE BREAK UP

*How about that coffee*
No you stalker boy, you admitted to having a wank in a traffic jam because 'there was nothing better to do'.
** dear stalker boy, Im not going to  this politely because you have pushed me over the edge. Leave me alone and spend your time considering the fact that women lie and size DOES matter**
That sorts that then.........
To be continued.

Insomnia

Well I must apologise for my lack of communication. It's not that nothing has been happening it's just that I have been suffering with one of the worst disorders; insomnia.
There's nothing more likely to make you less articulate than lack of sleep. For months I  struggled to get more than three hours shut eye. I have spent long periods of time walking around like a vegetarian zombie. Zero munching on humans but lots of groaning and slow shuffling walks. Even when I am ridiculously tired the minute my head hits the pillow my brain starts to talk to me. Like so:
"Hi"
"Hi brain"
"I see you've finally dragged yourself away from the wine and meal for one and got into bed"
"Yep nice and comfy"
"well, about that meal for one..."
"I'd much rather sleep"
"It's just a little pathetic don't you think?"
"yes it is, maybe a little sleep would make it better"
"Oh I don't think so. Did you see that advert for elite singles? Oh of course you did the giggle centre went into overdrive"
"hehehehe"
"yes very amusing. Well I was thinking that it wouldn't work for you anyway because there is nothing elite about you"
"..... I'm going to sleep now"
"You have no money"
"I have a jar of pennies"
"All your clothes are knock-offs or primark"
"It's the only place that accepts my jar of pennies"
"Maybe it's the career you've chosen"
"ok I'll quit tomorrow morning, goodnight"
"The problem is, not being in any way elite your chances of getting a well paid job are pretty slim"
"I'll just become a prostitute then"
"Don't be silly you can't even give it away, who's going to pay?"
"I hate you brain"
"I saw that. That hammer is for scary wardrobe clowns only"
"Then I suggest you let me sleep"
"ok"




"Do you think the front room needs a mirror?"


After weeks of these conversations I did what any sane person would do; I borrowed my friends highly powerful sleeping pills.
Friends sympathise when you can't sleep. Best friends knock you out for ten ours.