Yesterday at lunch the discussion turned to dating. This is possibly what happens when one is aging and happily partnered. We grow tired of our happy, mature relationships and reminisce about the drama of our single years.

“Well, who hasn’t dated a psycho?” asked one of the women. Now, when I think psycho, I think of the type to chop you up into tiny pieces when you break up with her, so no, haven’t really dated a psycho. I have, however, dated women who have clearly been let down by mental health professionals.

One girl I met because I fancied her friend — we’ll call her Paula. Paula was clearly not interested in me, but after some persistence, I snagged an invite to a party at her place. And there I met her best friend — we’ll call her Sonia. Sonia was so not my type. But, jager-bombs can mitigate picky things like personality and looks and sociopathic tendencies so we ended up hanging out a bit. She asked me out and I said yes. She refused to allow me to pay for anything (and not just that one night). But, we actually had a really nice time (this time it was white wine) so I made out with her at the Nitelink bus stop on D’olier St and invited her back to mine.

It had been a while, ok?

It was a good while after that too, because the only things she was interested in doing with me in bed were asking me to make her a sandwich and reading to me from her favourite Harry Potter book.

We dated (hope springs eternal, right?) for about 3 weeks. Off and on. That’s right, you can be off-and-on in the space of three weeks. I can’t remember why she dumped me in the first place, but it was tearful and dramatic and horribly public. But, she begged me to give her a second chance, and — being the fair minded person that I am — I did.

Bad decision. I mean, what do you do, when you break up with someone publicly and dramatically, beg them to give you a second chance and they agree? Oh right, you completely ignore them… except when you need to have someone on your arm. Now, I’m not exactly a supermodel, so it took a while for me to figure this out —  it’s never happened before or since — but I was arm-candy. Not pretty arm-candy, but just an accessory for her arm, dispensable when actual friends were nearby.

Once again, it was horrible and dramatic. We broke up. She kept the phone I’d loaned her and told me her friends hated me and that I was an expensive date (I wanted to point out if she’d have let me pay, I would have bought her some Abrakebabra too). Last time I spotted Sonia, she was yelling at a girl outside the George. The girl was in tears. I was glad to see the drama had never been mine.

So now I ask you — who hasn’t dated a psycho? (Or at least someone with a serious personality disorder)

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