We were at the gym, before breakfast doing fasted cardio in a bid to lose some weight, slogging it out on the treadmill that overlooked the swimming pool when I felt a familiar lurch. She was right in our line of sight; all tanned, long dark hair, body like a fitness model, petite stature, and elegantly laid out on a sun lounger.
I wrote a blog post on the types of men you find in Dubai following a conversation with my friend over a You Tube video which categorises men into four types, but then, the more I thought about it, I realised that for every type of man in Dubai, there are just as many different types of woman. I am all about equality, and I would hate for any men reading my blog to think that I am solely targeting them (!) So read on, to uncover the various categories of woman you’ll encounter across Dubai.
Have you ever seen the film, ‘Just Friends?, where Ryan Reynolds explains the ‘friend zone’,
“The ‘friend zone’ is like the penalty box of dating, only you can never get out. Once a girl decides you’re her ‘friend,’ it’s game over. You’ve become a complete non-sexual entity in her eyes, like her brother, or a lamp.”
Not for the first time in my life – I have found myself relegated to the friend zone. I have become like a lamp.
The past two weeks I have learned a lot of things – including that hands and feet occupy the largest area of the brain when it comes to human senses; that’s why when your shoes are hurting your feet from all that dancing or whatever, the pain feels much more unbearable. (I KNOW!!!) Even more wild than that though, is that I can now confirm that men are actually crazy. They are insane-psycho, more-issues-than-Vogue and a daily newspaper combined, whack.
A couple of months ago, while I was round at one of my friends apartments for one of our ‘Come Dine With Me’ dinner nights. Catching up, we were all talking about our latest gossip and what we’d been up to, and when it came to my gossip which was distinctly lacking, I made no qualms to hide how fed up I’d been feeling lately.
On Thursday night, I had a wobbly moment. An albeit brief moment, but a wobbly moment nonetheless. I had a cry on my sofa, then I poured myself a (very large) gin, and I went to bed after about another four of those gins looking like Bridget Jones, only more tragic because I have two cats. Continue reading →