Life in the very fast lane...

As a forty-something-singleton, I consider myself lucky to have many fellow forty-something-singleton-girlfriends who are always up for a sip here or a gulp there in and around this great city of Johannesburg.  I have decided that in this country, Johannesburg is the blood that moves the body we call South Africa.  Of course, it suits me to think this way at present, and I reserve the right to change my view at any given or non-given moment.

But being a city girl at heart, despite my disastrous attempts at proving the opposite to be true, I have come to understand that every single city on this planet has its own energy, its own unique feel, and indeed, its own “life blood”.  In New York City, which is a place that will forever house a sliver of my soul, the life blood is of course that fabulous red drink we call the “Cosmopolitan”.  This is a cocktail made world famous by Carrie Bradshaw and her single friends in my ever-favourite Sex and the City, and attempted to be made even more famous by me, Philippa Spark, at various stages of very poor behaviour in an assortment of bars and night clubs across almost every square inch of that wonderful borough we call Manhattan.

Some of the greatest moments of my life have been spent in New York City, and I have memories that no-one will ever be able to take away from me, much less rival.

This entire preamble has been leading you up the muddied garden path that culminates in one of my most treasured sentences from one of the Sex and the City episodes.  The four girls, out on the town on a Saturday evening, Manhattan’s busiest night out (not that there are too many quiet nights in Manhattan), have had a bad run for their money with men.  They are all of a similar age and at fairly similar stages, facing the challenges of life in the dating lane.  As one who currently travels in the dating lane  (sometimes, in my case, this could actually be a “bus lane”), I can relate completely to a toast Carrie Bradshaw made on this particular evening, whilst quaffing a blood-red Cosmopolitan – she said, in her perfect voice, “here’s to the guys that love us, the losers who lost us, and the lucky bastards that get to meet us”.

I laughed out loud listening to her just then, most likely because I could relate completely to her sentiments, and I knew my girlfriends would too.  I read with interest earlier today, an article that Oprah sent out on women in their forties and how different they are to women in any other decade of their lives.

In our twenties we are wild and uninhibited (hell I miss those days), our thirties are often our most difficult – marriage, children, responsibility – none of these I am particularly good at, and then one gets to forty, and suddenly it is okay to let one’s hair down a little and just live unabashedly – this would include being able to make sweeping statements like Carrie did that evening, without feeling riddled with guilt for the next fifty two Saturdays.

All this being said, one must not forget the message being sent out by single women from here to New York, via satellite television – the guys that love us, the losers who lost us, and the lucky bastards that get to meet us.  I could start a dating warfare site with those words, but I am pleased to say I have better things to do on a Tuesday evening (just)… however, the message is, I have to say, profound.

There are those that we as women will love, and who may even love us back; there are those we will not love, but who may have the good sense to love us; there are those who, for whatever reason, chose to walk away from us and of course that must be due to huge character flaws on their part, and then there are those lucky ones still destined to meet us.  I have eight very wise words for the poor unsuspecting individuals who have yet to meet our small hive of queen bees and that is, “your lives will never be the same again”.

This is really a tribute to women in their fabulous, extraordinarily free forties; a tribute to New York City and all the incredible things that happen there on a nightly basis, but most of all, this is a tribute to all the single girls out there – no matter how flawed you feel you may be at any given time, somewhere, at some time, there is a guy out there, who will be lucky enough to love you, and have you love him back.

To my cousin Janice, on the eve of your fortieth birthday, and remembering your wild birthday party at The Boat House in Central Park which we all loved so very much, a decade ago tomorrow… may that lucky bastard find you soon… (and if you want to hold onto him, keep him away from your mad cousins for at least five years!).