Impotential?

I have lived for quite a number of years as a single white female in my own house, through my own choice. I didn't like it at first because it came upon me not through my own choice, but by the sometimes tough thing called life. Then I grew to like it. I grew to like the fact that there was space in my bed, space for clothes all piled up in an unruly manner on top of each other. A pile which would put the Pisa tower to shame. I grew to like the fact that I did what the hell took my fancy at any odd hour of the day or night. I used to question the fact if that was how it was going to be all along. Somehow it didn't bother me. I dated, heaps of dates, all obviously very impotential (for lack of a better word) dates, because that way my own world would remain untouched, give or take the some nights the impotential ones turned potential-for-a-couple-of-hours type of dates. The minute my delicate ears heard a quarter of a snore, I'd pack them out the door. I was never too keen on bring dates close to home anyway because they'd disrupt my patterns; patterns of sleep, patterns of living, and patterns of some other things. I just made certain they'd be impotential candidates the minute I'd made the date, mostly because of the lack of the thing called on-the-same-wavelength. It would always be dinner, perhaps a piano bar somewhere, and then... whatever happened happened. I think one of these dates, a specific man, thought I was pretty dumb, as he invited me to take a look at his mother's 'villeggjatura' at 3 in the morning. Aha, I said, ok I know where this is going. And since I had nowhere to go at 3 in the morning I accepted, more out of curiosity then real interest. And I think this date had a funny mummy who although didn't live at her 'villeggjatura' in December made sure that everywhere was spotless, and oddly had made sure to leave the master bedroom in perfect condition together with the two Baci chocolates on the really large bed. And I laughed. The things men do for sex. And this was a man 20 years my senior who still behaved like a 15 year old. I couldn't hide my laughter, was I supposed to be impressed or what? There were even another two Baci chocolates laid out on the white fluffy bathroom towels. Hey, did my date think I was physically dirty or what? Or maybe he thought his mother's master bedroom was going to make me a dirty girl or something? And I laughed so much that it suddenly turned out to be not such a bad date after all. Needless to say I ate the Baci chocolates. I also made hell out of the bedroom duvet because as it turned out we sat there talking and smoking till dawn. An ok date which still would be going nowhere. I am not a neat freak, I do not appreciate thoughtfulness in that sense, it's a killjoy in the other department. My last impotential date was on the 30th April, 2003 (I've always had a good memory!), and it turned suddenly potential because things are not always what they seem. I was some 60kgs less (no, sadly I'm not exaggerating), full of confidence, and walked about town as if I had my own personal designer. I didn't but again things aren't always what they seem. So I made sure to show my then perfect pins the minute I entered his car, and could have laughed. His eyes were glues to my nylons. Perfect, ok, this was going to be an easy catch. Yeah right, turned out that the easy catch had brains too, had my same musical knowledge (perhaps a tiny bit more), and did not mind the nicotine and tar filling my pretty lungs. And one date led to anther, and another, and yet another. And it's been six years. And now I'm so glad I waited for so many years on my own and not just fell for some other date which would have long since expired. And I'm on my own again, for a couple of days that is. Master of ceremonies will be back in a couple of days. And although each time I think I do not mind, I think I do. I miss him.