New year, new man? Eligible bachelor a decade out of your twenties.

We’re hot on the heels of 2016 when all the singles evaluate the past year over excessive amounts of alcohol. This goes one of two ways. Smeared mascara, slurred words and a promise to avoid all men and make the year ‘all about me’, or, and this is the one we’d hope for, a drunken realization of everything we’ve been doing wrong! For believe me, if you’re floundering in the single pool in our compact little country, there are undoubtedly things you are doing wrong. Primarily, dating the wrong men.

Did I make that sound simple? It’s not simple. But it tends to come down to this – we fall back on the men we dated in our youth. The traits that had us licking our lips and breathing a little deeper, these are all we know. Thing is, little did you know it, but lady, you’re not who you were back then. Uh-uh and those boys are not what you’re looking for.

Like everything, our tastes evolve with time. What you wore in your twenties is not what you’re wearing today (I sincerely hope – with the exclusion of those well loved jeans, the ones with the thinning ass that you fear will split when you bend over). What you ate and drank; cheap convenience foods, where you traded good money for chemicals and compressed cardboard to ward off the hangover brought on by £3.00 bottles of wine and toxic shots washed down with energy drinks. Your taste has no doubt evolved to clean meats with fresh veg, complimented by selectively chosen wines.

The same can be said for our taste in men.

In my early twenties I wanted a pretty face, a nice set of wheels and a good tolerance for alcohol. I didn’t care where he lived. How often he washed his bed sheets. What he intended to do for a living. How often he spoke to his parent. What he thought of any impending war. I was looking for a partner in my world of crazy. Is that what single women in their thirties are looking for – hell no.

Women hunting down men in their thirties mean business. This isn’t a time wasters world, not when your face is fighting against gravity, along with your ass. Dating in your thirties is a man hunt. And a serious one at that.

Now suddenly, everything we never thought about is all that runs through our minds. What does he do? Where does he live? Is he good with his parents? Does he change his boxers daily? Christ, does he even own his own house? Ask any woman out there – if she denies these fleeting thoughts, take it from me and mine – she’s lying. Either that or she’s on heartbreak rebound. This revolves entirely around sex and texts. Nothing but a filler until the real deal shows up and steals her away.

Those men out there slumming it in their friend’s house, eating dinner at their parent’s daily and grabbing their groceries in the local spar – husband material? No. Daddy material – is the sky red with Louboutins? I don’t bloody think so. Step back from the boys and find yourself a man – new years resolution number one. Number two – stop fussing about the little things because when it comes down to it, they don’t really matter.

After that, drink more and party the night away.

This article is my 42nd oldest. It is 573 words long, and it’s got 6 comments for now.