Girls? What girls? The fairer sex at university
Now before I came here, I – along with every guy I knew – was under the illusion that university was going to be brimming with eager beavers and that getting a girl would be as simple as jive walking, brandishing a bit of body hair and pronouncing yourself heterosexual. Expectations led me to believe there were to be no more walls, only girls lined up and stacked on top of each other, like a human pyramid but with fewer Iraqi prisoners.
Instead, what I thought to be a fertile pasture of lady loving quickly became a barren desert unable to sustain female life. Girls, it seems are harder to find then Hitler’s missing testicle (the whereabouts of which the Albert Hall has conveniently murky information on, although if rumours are to be believed, Bin Laden is hoarding it in a pickle jar along with Stalin’s moustache and Mussolini’s back-scratcher).
Now I may not be looking for a ‘meaningful relationship’ as such, but come on, a little positive tension on the female front wouldn’t go amiss. They say you meet the person you’re going to marry at university. Well if that’s the case I’m getting hitched to my microwave; ever ready, ever faithful, we make piping hot food 5 nights of the week (we’re expecting our first child in 2 minutes 30 seconds).
And it’s always like you’re a few weeks too late as well. One moment someone could be as single as you, happily available and on the ‘market’, then next thing you know she’s become a couple, joined at the hip to some curtain-haired muscular 20 year-old called Sebastian who, when not snorting peanuts gets through girls as quick as he gets through protein shakes. If you’re not careful, you can get rather bitter. Oh well, I still have another 2 years left to rectify the situation during which time someone must eventually fall for my charms, if not I may just have to trip them.
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