It’s the evening of Valentine’s Day. The temperature outside hangs around eight degrees Celsius and I’m cooped up in the warmth of my own blanket and being at home. I’m sulking slightly with no Valentines in sight to shower with chocolates, a candle light dinner and all the romance that goes along with February 14.
It’s just your average Saturday night in – in lambswool lined pink UGG boots, an oversized woollen jumper and fleecy purple “pazar pantaloons” (pants for the local Friday market) – they offer the ultimate level of comfort thanks to their soft material and low-lying crutch.
(I know! How did I not get a date tonight!?)
Like a little kitten teasing a piece of string, I reach out to my emails and Facebook page poking around for people to play with. There’s not much happening there. Nothing but photos of loved up couples, red roses and single women professing quotes and statements akin to “girl power”.
I, on the other hand, have a power ballad spooling in my head as I sip from my second glass of wine.
A sense of fear creeps over me as I reminisce about the details of the movie. Bridget’s look, her age, her living situation! Seems all quite familiar…had I become Bridget Jones?
When the movie was released I was early 20s and never imagined myself to be Hans Solo on Valentines Day beyond 2005. But here I am. Mid 30’s, blond-ish hair to my shoulders, slightly podgy, a couple of “hello mummy” knickers in my drawers and with, “Absolutely no messages. Not a single one,” not even from my mother!
The illogical urge to Google, “How old is Bridget Jones,” to compare our ages and somehow determine the success of my life is disrupted when I spot messages in my ”other inbox”. The kitten strikes as I open to read what awaits.
You see there’s a reason why I hide my identity on this blog. I like to protect my “other inbox” on Facebook from unwanted prying eyes. Messages in the other inbox are typically from would-be-if-they-could-be keyboard Romeos of the cyber-world. Fellow bloggers report how publishing their names to posts attract these tragic star crossed “lovers”. Men who believe their cutesy messages will have foreign women swooning to their Facebook page and more. It doesn’t work, it just infuriates many. It does however, somewhat entertain me this evening – or at least give me fodder for this week’s post!
Peering into the box I note the friendly messages discretely disguised as bait to gain a reply. Ismail writes:
“Hello, do you live in Istanbul? I live in Istanbul. We should meet up.”
I consider responding with: Tebrikler (congratulations) Ismail. Look hard no feelings but I lived in the same city as Hugh Jackman and Heath Ledger once…and neither of them wanted to meet me either. Take a lesson from my experience – it’s you, not me. Goodbye and good luck.
Then there’s the overly curious Daryoush, who asks:
“What did send you to Turkey? Courage !?”
And inquisitive Yalcin who probes:
“How are u :))) can l ask u something? :)”
No, Yalcin, no you cannot ask me something..no matter how many smiley faces you purge. I fear contact with you would only end up with endless text messages and tears – your tears as I block you from my life forever.
And then there’s the voyeuristic, Ahmed:
“Oooooooo pretty, do u have any videos??”
Yes I doooooooooo, Ahmed. Lots of them. Of cats mainly. Can I send you more than one…daily?
An oddly self-proclaimed, Endoplasmic Reticulum emails:
“A writer could be so beautiful?”
That message left me feeling a little insecure. Is there a stigma that I don’t know about – that writers are unattractive creatures hit by the ugly stick? (I confess, I may have just googled, “good looking female writers,” to prove the stigma wrong …)
There’s even a doctor in the house who writes:
“Hello beautiful lady, How are you doing? I am doctor Sawyer Braschi. I will like to be your friend and come over to your country to set up a clinic. I hope to hear from you soon, Thanks.”
Dear doctor, do you say that to all the ladies? I may be inclined to change my country if you are to follow.
But some keyboard Romeos seem to go to a lot of trouble to gain a lady’s attention. Take, for example, poet Semih who confesses:
“I have seen angels in the sky, I saw the snow fall in July. I’ve seen things you only imagine to see or do, but I still have not seen anything sweeter than you. hello. How did you … you have to be an angel.”
If I had consumed more wine by now I may have replied with some poetry of my own:
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
What drugs are you taking?
Because I’ll have some too!
But I don’t reply. I never do. In fact – newsflash other inbox traffickers – I doubt anyone ever does!
Satisfied I’m not as lonely and desperate as those in my inbox, I log off from Facebook, pour my third glass wine, adjust the crutch of my pazar pants, stretch my UGG boots towards the TV and wonder when the next Bridget Jones movie will be out. I look out to the night sky and ponder this Valentines. I thank my lucky stars. Thank god I’m single and happy (girl power). Thank god I have a home and comfortable clothes…and thank god I’m not dating a man from my other inbox!!
Got some keyboard Romeos of your own? Feel free to share your other inbox below!