Why I will never get married

Marriage. The word strikes fear into my heart and conjures up images of what could theoretically be the end of my life: being trapped in middle class suburbia with a husband (yeurch) and two or maybe three kids while my soul slowly disintegrates from ennui. There would be Ikea furnishings and probably a people carrier and we'd have dinner parties with work colleagues and the kids would do ballet and football. All in all, it sounds simply horrific to me. However, I have recently discovered the real reason why I will probably never get married. It has nothing to do with this perceived ending of my life as I know it, nor the traditional values upon which marriage was founded and which of course I am utterly against (woman as man's property and all that jazz). No, the real reason is simply statistical. Let us examine the facts.

Firstly, over 90% of my close friends (and indeed not-so-close friends) are either female, or gay. Mostly they're gay. The ones who aren't gay and don't have a vagina are all in long-term relationships, and even if they weren't the chemistry between us is so unreactive we'd be classified as inert gases on the periodic table. I'm not entirely sure why I'm surrounded by homosexuals, but I imagine the fact that I'm a languages student doesn't help much (how many straight men really study French?) Even so, it's a worldwide phenomenon: no matter what country I am in it's not long before I've ended up with a NGBF (new gay best friend) and we're either sitting at a cafe examining passing men's packages or in a random club dancing to Kylie and Madonna. It really is like flies to shit.

Of course, there are many perks to these relationships: for a start I know we'll never end up having random drunken sex and then never being able to talk to each other again, and it's pretty unlikely they'll ever steal my boyfriend - though I guess that is a possibility! And, stereotypically, for the most part my gay friends dress better, cook better, dance better, can hold a better conversation and have nicer and cleaner houses than the few straight men I do know. While statistically this means I'm having many emotionally- and intellectually-stimulating conversations over amazing food in aesthetically-pleasing surroundings, it also means that none of this is ever going to get me laid, ce qui m'enerve un peu!

Secondly, I am extraordinarily fussy. Well, people say I am and I can see where they're coming from, but in reality I don't think we ever choose who we're attracted to - for the most part, when you meet someone new you either fancy them or you don't, and you know straight away. Unfortunately, the number of men I meet and immediately find attractive (not including the ones who then turn out to be gay) is pretty fucking low; on average one or two guys a year. My pheromones aren't exactly giving me a lot of choices. For example, in the past year I have met 1) my now ex-boyfriend, and, approximately eight or nine months later, 2) one other guy. ONE! And of course I met him in a tiny remote campsite on the side of a French mountain where I was only staying for one night, in a tent with my parents. It wasn't exactly ideal. Furthermore, my womb has some kind of inner radar whereby it knows in advance if I'll meet someone I like, and alters my usually-regular menstrual cycle just so it coincides with meeting that person, and thus all is doomed. This has happened so many times it's not even funny.

Thirdly and finally, the statistics show that in actual fact I may have had some kind curse put on me. All of my ex-boyfriends (with one exception), and indeed some of the people I randomly hooked up with, have, after splitting up with me, then gone on to find the love of their life (on more than one occasion this has been one of my good friends) and had a seemingly beautiful, fulfilling relationship for at least a couple of years. And yes, I am a little bit bitter about this. All I can say is that a night with me will probably ensure that you then go on to meet someone bloody amazing and you'll have a fab relationship for many years. I'm like a fucked-up reverse good luck charm.

So, there you have it. The maths says that I am doomed, and who am I to argue with statistics? Of course I don't want to get married, and even the idea of a long-term relationship is mildly terrifying, but it would be nice every now and then to even have the opportunity for a little bit of sexy time. Is that too much to ask, oh mathematical one?!