In Praise of Single Dads

Seasons greetings (or gretchings, as you see fit.) Christmas is growing on me, is it growing on you? As long as I can dodge its more maudlin elements and block out childhood memories of family meals past, this seems like a nice enough time.

I like the growing trend of adults not giving each other presents, or limiting themselves to useful items like wine and books. I'm colluding with my sister to get my mum a new sleep set, however, as she has the rattiest looking duvet and sheets to go with her collection of hideous flannel nighties. The latter I consider her boyfriend's problem, not mine.

Honestly, ladies. I know some of you who look smashing in day-time apparel, but who retreat into grannynighties and enormous pyjama sets and sweat pants (!) with the setting of the sun. Good lord, what's wrong with you? It IS effective birth control, I suppose, unless your mate has a geriatric fetish, but I personally find it disheartening. Is there not a way you can be both "cozy" and sexy? Think more Jennifer Beals in Flashdance, less Bea Arthur in Maude. And let's all get rid of the damn yoga pants already, except for yoga? Camel toes are so 2009.

Anyway, I am here to praise, not censure. I'm digging 30-something single daddies these days. First, an update or a recap, depending when last we met.

The fuckbuddy has graduated to gentleman-caller, and I'm quite gratified to report all is quite good on the sex and conversation fronts. On the emotional front, however, he seems skittish. I think this healthy considering he has not long been divorced. Being easily prone to startling also means I can have a bit 'o' fun with him. Wicked Gretchie can't helping yanking a clanking chain at times, like pretending to be crazy (turning innocent texts into accusations of him calling me fat) or telling him we're getting Facebook-married. I don't do it that much, just enough to keep him pleasantly unsettled.

Why, you ask, would you be so cruel, dear Gretchie? Well, first of all, it's funny (luckily, he shares a deviant sense of humour with me). Second of all, I am irked by the underlying assumption that in the story called At This Age, the He should be skeptical and the She should be pining for a Real Relationship. A reverse chase, of sorts.

I can't really be too harsh, as it does seem to be true in many cases. Usually women my age are wishing for Prince Charming 2.0 to come riding along and ask for directions. Okay, dare to dream. (Maybe not with such determination and level of detail, though, as it is rather terrifying when love is treated with the same joyless zeal as a home-reno project).

On the flipside, I know a few guys recently liberated from LTRs that are celebrating just getting out with their testes intact. I prefer to take a page from their book. I'm still grateful to be a) out of it b) having a personal sexual renaissance and c) conscious of my good fortune. Anyway, I'm happy to not be in love with anyone but pleasantly beguiled for the time being.

So why the praise of the single dad? Well, they are not squeamish, for one thing. Single childless men can be easily grossed out, which is off-putting. My X could not abide creepy-crawlies and never cleaned up after his own dog even once, or deigned to mop up his own dirty toilet. Note 1: I'll never be with another princess-man.

Single dads are not usually easily embarrassed. Once you've had your 9-month old defecate so forcefully in Starbucks that poo comes squirting out from under the collar of her onesie, you become inured to public shaming. If you're wise, you are thunderstruck with awe at the vigour of your child. Dads are more apt to take such small wonders in stride.

Dads have more likely learned to comfort others. They are more comfortable with physical contact meant to soothe and reassure. They are better listeners and generally more attuned to their surroundings.

Most of all, the dads I know (single and otherwise) are grateful for the small people in their lives. They are tickled to find themselves liking being dads, liking the teaching of small and big things, liking spending time with a pint-sized half-version of themselves with the manners of a mostly jolly, sometimes irate drunkard. It can be pretty funny if you're not in a rush, I gather.

I enjoy the company of children more and more these days as well. I'm bemused to find myself being told I'm good with kids, by parents with raised eyebrows and obviously low expectations. Ha! They are likely also surprised by my flashes of sternness. Adults have the authority to reasonably admonish children not their own in my world, which is an old-fashioned attitude. Not for silly stuff, but when it comes to manners I find myself occasionally dropping the goofy schtick and admonishing like some proper old Auntie May. Oh well, hopefully my friends will forgive me in light of my story-reading skills.

I shall be writing on Christmas so wish you a calm and fruitful week for now. I'm en route to the city to see my dear Guyfriend for a platonic sleepover at a fancy hotel and breakfast at my favourite morning joint. This is yet another way I'm asserting my non-clinginess, I suppose: by putting myself in potentially sexual situations. Ha!

Luckily, my period has just arrived with her usual fervour so we're all safe for the time being, not to mention Guyfriend and I have had a few practice runs with the platonic sleepovers. It's still nice to feel a little sneaky, though. In your face, Relationship assumptions!

More soon,
G