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In the absolute bleakness of my current romantic wasteland, I have come to realise that I am almost definitely in love with a one night stand from six months ago. While I often try to convince myself that I’m hardcore enough to engage in casual sex, this column, written half a year after spending less than 24 hours with some guy, strongly suggests that I’m not. Either I’m a huge creepy sap, or he really was my soul-mate in which case my longing for him is perfectly normal, albeit very delayed. Although most definitely the former, its interesting to ponder: in 2016, love at first sight still remains a myth, but what about love at first one night stand?
This potential soulmate and I met by chance, as people often do. He was a lovely young man who was actually a lovely young man about ten years older than I thought, and looked like James McAvoy but also like the tall bad guy from Home Alone. Visiting town, he was here for one night and one night only. I, a modern woman, embraced my inner Samantha Jones and leapt at the opportunity of a single-serving lover. He would leave in the morning and we’d never see each other again. No worry of awkwardly bumping into each other after awkwardly bumping each other. No fuss, no muss. The perfect one night stand. Or so it would have been, had I not then fallen in love with him.
Is this really so creepy? Well, yes, but also, no. Not really. Only ever so slightly. Please let me explain. First off, many relationships have started as a drunken romp between strangers. In fact, in coy-until-five-standard-drinks New Zealand, probably 90% of relationships have started this way. So just from pure statistics we are already off to a good start. Furthermore, we have had absolutely zero contact since that fateful night and remain in separate cities. While this may appear to the general layperson as “not promising,” it is actually the opposite. For you see, the lack of contact and physical sighting has allowed me to build up an impossible fantasy of what this person is like, making them very lovable. In my head he now looks 100% like James McAvoy, is hilarious but thinks that I’m funnier, and cooks the perfect moussaka. His hair, pubic included, consists of perfect wispy coils of 24 karat gold and he also craps out cold hard cash. But above all, he has a fetish for people who harbour overdue crushes founded upon absolute delusion.
Finally, fantasies aside, he really did have very kind eyes and was polite, warm, witty. At least I think he was. There are some accuracy issues with pinning hopes and dreams upon one hazy night of something that resembled sex. But in a world where polite, warm, witty, kind-eyed James McAvoy lookalikes are few, I believe it is not entirely insane to do so. Some of us just simply cannot get wet, unless our heart is wet.