Single Satisfaction

Despite the announcement of several engagements and pregnancies this year, I still have a number of fabulous, single girlfriends. They’re the kind of girls that are probably a bit too comfortable being single – independent and strong-minded. Saying that, every girl loves a bit of attention, doesn’t she?

So, amidst all the uncertainty surrounding Mr. A.P, I decided to host a singles dinner. The concept was simple – invite all my single girlfriends in Dubai to dinner, get each one of them to bring a single guy friend, meet at a restaurant with a set price all-you-can-eat-and-drink and let carnage ensue. I was hoping the night might appease some of my single girlfriends’ appetites… In the run up to the dinner, some of my girlfriends moaned how they knew of no eligible bachelors to bring. At first I couldn’t believe that such intelligent, gorgeous and outgoing women didn’t know any eligible men but then I realized that I’d have struggled if my only option hadn’t said yes. Were Dubai’s men really that bad?

There was no need to worry in the end, as like true troopers, they pulled it out of the bag. Although, admittedly, a couple of them had scraped the barrell! But as it was a pilot run, we’ll gloss over that on this occasion.

On the night, eight girls and eight guys turned up at the bar for pre-dinner drinks, in hope of finding their Romeo or Juliet. It was an optimistic thought, but everyone was so curious about how the night would turn out, it didn’t matter. But, as the hostess, there were moments where I felt a little awkward and wished I’d planned it better.

Dinner went well, and people automatically adopted the boy-girl-boy-girl seating plan, which saved us all from the embarrassment of having place-cards that I’d not made! Everyone chatted amongst themselves and there were no issues with the bill, which was an absolute God-send.

Some people dwindled off home but those who wanted to continue the party went on to one of Dubai’s swanky cocktail bars. I left everyone to their own devices and chatted to the eligible bachelor I’d brought along… S.

After a few too many Cosmopolitans, I talked at him about the Mr. A.P situation. Yes, I know… again! He listened though, and he didn’t complain, which was very sweet. In the end, after God knows how long I’d been rambling on about it for, S said he had to go. We hugged goodnight, but it was one of those hugs that went on for just a little bit longer than it should have. Next thing I knew, we were kissing.

At that moment in time, all sorts of things went through my mind - namely visions of bare skin and bed sheets. The visions didn’t materialise, and I can honestly say I’m glad they didn’t. It would have been way too easy. This story has been dragged out for over two years, if it’s going to be done at all; it’s going to be done well.

You know what, here I am; two guys I know I shouldn’t be attracted to, both of whom are telling me they don’t want it, yet things just keep on happening. Could it be that I’m actually enjoying playing this game? Could it be that I don’t want them either? I know they’re both emotionally unavailable, so why would I keep going there unless I’m emotionally unavailable too?

Am I pressured by friends and family into feeling that I want a relationship when really I don’t want one at all? Do I want to conform to society’s expectations of finding a man with whom I should have a monogamous relationship with, or do I want to rebel…?

I know the answer; it’s you that needs to work it out.

When a date is a date is a date

It’s pretty obvious when you’re on a date, right? A guy asks you out for dinner, you have your hair and nails done, squeeze into that LBD that you know always makes you look a complete knock-out, don your favourite Laboutins and head to the most chic restaurant in town. Or so you’d think…

According to a male friend of mine, a date is not always a 'date’ and most guys really don’t like labelling a date a 'date’. Make sense? Apparently, men dislike the connotations associated with the word ‘date’. In other words, they think a 'date’ pressurises them into having a full blown relationship. So, if a guy just asks you to hang out one-on-one, effectively, you’re on a date. And guys think girls are complicated!

With that in mind, I thought back to how many dates I’d been on without even realising. Turns out it’s been a fair few. The reason I didn’t recognise they were dates is because they were either with a friend (but not too good a friend that it was definitely platonic) or a business acquaintance.

So, does that mean my sweaty roller blading session with Mr. A.P was a date? And my drinking binges with S were too? Do they know they were dates? And if Mr. A.P and I continue with our one-on-one blading sessions, does that mean we're dating? Well, we're going on dates, aren't we?

Still unclear on the definition of 'a date', I questioned a few friends of mine last night. What I'd hoped would give me a clear answer, turned into an insightful debate. Does a date have to be one-on-one? What if your coupled-up friends ask you out for dinner with them and their single guy friend? Is that a date? It may be a double date, but it's a date. And then what about when a single girl and her single male friend go shopping together? Surely that's not a date if you're just friends, that would be a frienaissance, which, as I learnt yesterday, is is where two friends agree to meet for a social activity on a purely platonic level.

What about a rendez-vous? To me, a rendez-vous is a little bit secretive and a little bit naughty, perhaps even downright filthy, and I wouldn't put it in the same bracket as a date. However, its literal translation from French does mean 'date' or 'appointment', suggesting it's not an illicit meeting.

Going back to 'date', according to my friend, BG, a date is sweet and is expected to grow into something. She was obviously referring to the fruit, but she had a point nonetheless... However, it was my housemate, BBD, who probably had the best definition for 'a date'. He described it as a pre-arranged meeting between two people where there is romantic intent from at least one party. I think that's as close to hitting the nail on the head as possible. Would you disagree?

BBD also mentioned that if you want to be 100% certain that you are on a date with the man in question, sleep with him. If he won't sleep with you, it wasn't a date. Unless it was a blind-date and you turned out to be a dog.

So children, now that we have (sort of) established the term 'date', we can now move on to 'dating'. Surely a string of dates with a person means that you are dating? But what if these get-togethers happen sporadically? Do the dates need to occur in quick succession, say no more than a week apart, in order to consitute 'dating'? What if you're in a LDR and only go on dates once a month? What if you go on dates with a friend once every month but you see each other in your circle of friends twice a week?

What about, what BG calls, 'the fillers'? In other words, the contact inbetween the time you went on your last date and when you go on your next date? It could be phone calls, emails, texts, seeing each other in a group of friends, facebook comments etc. Are they significant? Would a lack of fillers signify there is less romantic interest? Ultimately, without fillers, there will be no next date, so they must have some significance...

And after how many 'dates' do you consider yourself to be 'dating'? My guess would be that dating is the interim period between the first date, where you decide you have an attraction to someone or not, and entering into a relationship, which is where you have decided you want to commit to this person. The boys questioned seem to think that 'dating' only occurs after the third date. Why is that, as according to a study at the Edinburgh Science Festival a few years ago, most people decide whether or not we're partner material within the first 30 seconds of meeting?

Would you go on a second date with someone you weren't interested in dating? Nine times out of ten, the answer is no. So, a second date means you want to find out even more about that person to decide whether or not you wish to embark upon a relationship with them. Therefore, you are dating, right?

In addition to all that, BBD seemed to think that if there is no sexual contact (kissing included) after two or three dates, then you're no longer dating and have, instead, entered into a frienaissance. But what if you have had sexual contact but you weren't, technically, on a date at the time? I mean, if there's sexual contact at any time, you would consider that as romantic interest, wouldn't you?

It's a lot to think about and maybe there is no definition. Perhaps 'date' and 'dating' are subjective terms and the only certainty is that they're both minefields. However, let us not forget that they are the learning playground of life...

Can't cook or won't cook?

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I know this to be true having witnessed this from an early age. Watching my mother slave away in the kitchen to appease the hunger pangs of my father, brother and I. There are very few occasions I can recollect where my father had left food on his plate. In fact, the most vivid memories I have of family meals consist of jars of pickled onions, mango chutney and green peppers taking up the table, and my father’s dinner plate strewn with olive pips. Homer Simpson springs to mind.

I also recall my mother painstakingly preparing dinner for a number of guests my dad had invited to our home. As an Arab, my mother would never be satisfied with just serving a simple dish. There would be salads and dips, followed by meat and then a sweet she had baked. All this activity would take place whilst my father was in the living room entertaining guests, smugly knowing they were about to be blown away by the food on offer.

Perhaps naively, I wanted to recreate the satisfaction that I remember from my parents’ dinner parties, however I was so unprepared for the amount of effort it would take…

With Ramadan in full swing and dinner parties seemingly the new going out, I invited a few friends over for a casual dinner party. I only intended on inviting around six people (the capacity of my dining table) but this soon became nine, ten, eleven and then twelve. Yep, I’d set myself the mammoth task of cooking for twelve! Not something I’d seen my mother, whom I consider a culinary genius, do! As the big day edged closer, I found beads of sweat forming at my temples every time I thought about it.

Shopping for the ingredients was a chore in itself – why is it next to impossible to find Ricotta cheese in this city?! What hadn’t crossed my mind is where I was planning to seat everyone. With only a small dining table for six, I soon realised I better purchase a fold out table and some extra chairs.

As I struggled through the aisles of Carrefour, bumping into children on trainers with wheels, clinging to the fold out table I was about to purchase whilst pushing a trolley with three fold out chairs hanging from my forearm, I prayed hosting this dinner party would be worth it. I mean, could I really pull this off? I can barely cook for myself, let alone twelve people! Or is it that I won’t cook for myself?

I watched as the Filipino checkout lady swiped the barcodes of my purchases. The end result was a bit of a shocker, something my plastic credit card was definitely not expecting, but I perservered.

Luckily I’d bagged myself a parking spot close to the mall entrance, so the trolley journey to my car would be to painful. I loaded my car with the goods, leaving the table until last… To my horror, it wouldn’t fit in my car! I turned the table around, attempted to take the roof of my car down, stripped the table of it’s packaging, making it vulnerable to scratches and scrapes. Nothing worked. I pushed and pulled and after 20 minutes of struggling, finally managed to wedge the beast in. I was sweating. It felt like I’d just wrestled with a grizzly bear in the 45 degree heat and 80% humidity, only then to go home and slave away over a hot stove for two hours!

Despite the odd setback, I actually enjoyed preparing for my dinner party and found that I have a talent for baking cakes. Perfect wife material. I was in the kitchen until 2am, having completely forgotten to eat myself. I opened the fridge in the hope of finding a midnight snack to gorge on before bed… Nothing. Nothing but the ingredients for my dinner party. I was tempted to scoff some of the cheese but knew it was too important to sacrifice. And so I went to bed hungry, having fasted all day and knowing I’d be fasting all day the following day. At least I’d appreciate the meal I was cooking!

The day of the dinner party arrived and I rushed home from work to complete my task. All was going well and I was slightly comforted by the fact my flatmate, a former chef, would soon be returning home and could help me out. But before I knew it there was a knock at the door… E and Mr A.P had arrived. Arrrggghh! I looked a mess – lack of make-up, strapless dress with bra straps protruding… not a good look.

I gave them simple instructions on the small tasks left and went to spruce myself up. As my guests trickled through my front door, I began to feel a sense of self-pride. Is this how my mother felt when cooking for my father and his friends? Or was this a deeper satisfaction as I was cooking for people I’d invited?

I’d already laid the table out and decorated the room with candles and so there was nothing left to do except dish up. I hoped that my guests had had enough wine on an empty stomach to not notice any flaws in my lasagne… As we all huddled around the table, I began to wonder what would be said of my attempts at a feast. Would my friends be polite and pat their stomachs as they winced and swallowed another bite? I guess I’ll never really know what they thought, although I think the coffee cake I’d baked went down pretty well.

Is it even the food that matters? I hate to lessen the worth of my mother’s dedication in the kitchen all those years ago, but I can’t help but wonder if it really is just the company that makes or breaks a dinner party. Afterall, I was surrounded by my nearest and dearest and everyone at the dinner table that evening was worth the hours of effort. Or perhaps it’s the entertainment? If that’s the case, I recommend to anyone hosting a dinner party to purchase electrocution games, post it notes and porn!

All in all, the evening was a success and I was up until all hours playing electrocution roulette with the boys whilst they drank… tequila and coke!! I think the reason behind hosting the dinner party was achieved. It was definitely one of those nights I won’t forget. For so many reasons…