The other day, as I routinely slapped some makeup on my face to get ready for work, Lana Del Ray’s Young and Beautiful came on on the radio.
As I heard her drawl the line “will you still love me when I’m no longer young and beautiful?”, I was overcome with a sudden curtain of sadness and melancholy. Easy for her to say. Or sing. She’s young, beautiful and very likely rich. Bitch.
Why? Because now when I’m still young and ahem beautiful, I have no one to love me. What more when I’m old and wrinkly like a prune?!?!
This love I’m referring to is specific; a love that family and friends cannot provide. The kind of love that involves sex and passion and more sex and probably a vimifillion other problems that come with a relationship.
Sitting down to ponder about life, I counted (ard nearly had a cardiac arrest) and this year marks the eighth year that I’ve been single.
Now, you already know that I’m young and beautiful, so what’s wrong with me? I’m not stupid, neither am I boring (I think…), not scheming nor cruel nor ruthless and the not non-appealing list goes on.
Ok. So I’m not romantic. But isn’t that wonderful? You don’t have to buy me flowers nor chocolates or fancy schmancy dinners. Being practical is hardly a crime.
Maybe I’ve been out of touch for so long I no longer know the right etiquette when it comes to dating. I don’t know. It’s not that I yearn for a partner, but I do miss having one AND THAT STUPID SONG JUST MADE ME FEEL LIKE A FAILURE.
Ok. That shouting just made me what I said I wasn’t- a bitter old prune.
Why don’t someone make a song about how trolls and toads and pugs and shriveled men and women and whales deserving some love too (other than from their own mothers)??
Will you still love me when I’ve nothing but rolls of fat/warts/dentures/saggy tits (insert preferred or suitable word)…..?