Unknowingly Blonde Boycotter?

I’m having trouble sleeping again. As I stared at the ceiling in the deafening darkness last night, I found myself wondering about many things, but two stood out for me.

The first being that this time of the year is always awful for me. I hate Valentine’s Day. It’s always been a shit day for me. Quite frankly, it’s vomit worthy!

Maybe I’ve not fully recovered from being dumped by The Pilot on January 26th, for him to get engaged to a blonde bombshell seventeen years his junior, two weeks later, on Valentine’s Day.

Last year a friend of mine who had a year before shared my anti-V sentiment and celebrated with me, found love (yes, she too is blonde and younger than he, but I’m not sure by how much. He says she and I are the same age, but from the photos I’ve seen, if she is forty, she’s drinking from the same eternal youth fountain as Cher).

These two things do play a role because my affections were deep, but this isn’t where the mental block I have with the hearts ‘n roses Hallmark holiday originates. Or at least I don’t think it is. The past fortnight my Facebook memories have been filtering through and they all point to being low mood. I’m seeing my psychiatrist on Monday, so will be asking him about this. At least I’m mentally well-enough to see a pattern; something I was blind to this time last year, shortly before all my pigs trotted out of their pen in a million directions at breakneck speed, and I ended up sedated in the hospital.

Dwelling on the fact that men I develop feelings for appearing to prefer blondes (and it’s not just the two I mentioned here), I found myself counting how many blonde girl friends I have. Aside from Carmen, who is greyer now than when we met, the tally is zero. I’ve known Eliza long, and her hair colour isn’t blonde, but it’s the closest.  So, when my brain was just about to seize because of the smoke coming out of my ears, it struck a Eureka moment.

Suki! She was blonde when I met her, and I’d never seen dreadful root regrowth in all the time I’d known and lived with her. Her hair was always perfect, so I thought she was indeed a natural blonde. Sorry brain, turned out she’s also a dinkum brunette. Sarah in New Zealand was another candidate, but she too was quickly disqualified, because her blonde is out of a bottle.

This leaves me with three more things to ponder when insomnia screws around with my circadian rhythm:

  1. Men are fickle, or is it just the ones I fall in love with?
  2. If I do land another (as my neighbour put it yesterday) a ‘necessary nuisance’, will he stick around longer if I go platinum?
  3. My weird attraction to gingers. It stems from The Bean, but that is another post for another time. But, to name a few Kevin McKidd, Ewan McGregor, Damien Lewis, and Prince Harry are handsome in my eyes. I’m fortunately over my David Caruso phase.

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